


The New Normal

by hotchoco195



Series: Stevie Rogers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Adjusting to the new world order, Amnesia, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Identity Issues, Lost Love, Mentions of past physical/emotional/mental abuse, Past Brainwashing, Therapy, Treasure hunts, canon violence, female!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the Chitauri invasion, Steve's having a bit of a hard time settling into modern life. It's about to get a lot worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve sprinted up the last flight of stairs and burst through the door just as Nat stepped out of the elevator.

“You need to step up your game, Rogers,” she teased, “I almost beat you that time.”

“How ‘bout tomorrow I take the elevator, and you run up ninety-three storeys in less than five minutes?”

“I’m gonna stop giving you a head start.”

Steve shook her head and laughed, flopping into a seat at the dining table and helping herself to the multitude of breakfast options. Natasha reached over her shoulder to grab a Poptart, heading for the espresso machine.

“Jarvis, where is everybody?” she took a bite.

“Miss Potts left for Malibu thirty minutes ago, and Mr Stark is-”

“Here,” Tony entered with a grin, “How was the morning run?”

“Steve got hit by a cab,” Nat pointed at her with the remaining Poptart half, “You should have seen the dent.”

“What, you didn’t get a photo?” the inventor clucked his tongue, sidling up beside her as the coffeemaker hissed and whirred.

“I was too busy laughing.”

“It wasn’t funny, okay? That guy was really upset about his cab.” Steve pouted.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it, since you gave him twice what the repair job’s gonna cost.”

“Well if that’s not a good start to the day, I don’t know what is,” Tony shoved his mug under the dripping spout, “Any word from Mein Herr?”

Steve gave him a sour look. “Tony, that’s not funny.”

“But it annoys you so much.” He chirped.

“Nothing from Fury or Hill, but Wilson’s going to be here in ten to see Steve.” Natasha answered, sipping her coffee.

“Great,” the blonde sighed, “We can have another conversation about how I don’t need therapy.”

Nat arched a brow. “You recommended her as our handler.”

“Cos she’s one of the few agents I trust. Doesn’t mean I want her lecturing me - Tony doesn’t get lectured about therapy.” Steve pointed her spoon at him accusingly.

The inventor laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve needed therapy since _way_ before New York. If Pep can’t get me to go, Wilson’s got no chance.”

 

Steve sulked, glowering into her juice. “I don’t see how talkin’ about my problems is gonna fix ‘em. Last time I checked, you can’t undo time by shooting the breeze.”

Natasha walked over and snagged a piece of toast off her plate. “You’re right, therapy won’t bring back what you lost. But it can help you figure out what you’re going to do now.”

She smiled at the redhead. “Living with you guys and fighting super villains is working out pretty well so far.”

“Amen to that,” Tony raised his mug as the elevator opened, “Samantha! Always lovely to see you. How’s my favourite agent?”

“Tired and cranky.” Sam snorted, wandering over with her hands in her pockets.

“We’ve got just the thing for that.” He turned the espresso machine on, sliding a new cup under the spout.

“Hey Sam. Breakfast?” Steve gestured at the plates.

“If I eat that crap my cholesterol levels will go through the roof. We don’t all have super metabolic rates, Rogers.” She teased.

“Suit yourself.”

Natasha sat on the arm of the couch, chewing her stolen toast. “How’s the family?”

“Fantastic. It was my nephew’s birthday on Sunday.”

“Pictures?” the redhead leaned closer.

Sam fished out her phone and flicked through the shots, Natasha cooing quietly. Steve concentrated on her meal, almost as if by shoving enough food in she could fortify herself against the inevitable argument to come. After a couple of minutes Tony took Sam her coffee and clapped a hand against his fist.

“Whelp, I’ve got meetings. See you kids at dinner, barring Avenger-related emergencies.”

“I should wash up. Cute photos, Wilson.” Nat nodded, heading towards the elevator with him.

The doors slid shut behind them and Steve sighed internally. Sam took the seat opposite, sipping her coffee in silence until the blonde finally looked up.

“You give any more thought to what I said?”

“Yeah, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

Sam frowned. “I know it’s a new idea for you but therapy’s not a big deal these days, Steve. Everybody needs help sometimes, and it can be handy to get an objective point of view.”

“And I totally get that,” she shrugged, “I just don’t think I need it. I’m doing great, Sam.”

“Really?” she drawled.

“I’m working with the team. Jogging with Nat, getting brunch on the weekend with Pepper. I haven’t strangled Tony yet, which is practically a miracle. I’m fine.”

“How’s your insomnia?”

 

She grit her teeth. “Better. I’m getting at least an hour every night.”

“Wow! That’s quite the improvement.”

Steve beamed. “See? I don’t need to waste my time talking to a shrink. I’m getting my shit together.”

“Have you been to see Peggy yet?”

Steve went silent, staring at her plate. Sam nodded.

“I didn’t think so.”

“It’s only been six months.”

“Steve, the longer you put it off, the more worried I get that you’re in denial. Peggy’s one of the last connections to your old life, and by avoiding her I feel like you’re trying to maintain this separation in your head between then and now.”

“It is separate.” She said flatly.

“No, it’s not. The things that happened in the ‘40s still affect you – hell, from your perspective they only just happened. I think you’re trying to distance yourself from those memories because they hurt too much, but you can’t bottle them up forever. You need to process.”

“And you think seeing Peggy’s gonna help? It’ll just make everything worse!” Steve snapped.

“And if you miss your chance, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe it would be better that way.”

Sam pointed a finger at her. “Denial.”

“I’m not seeing a therapist.”

The agent sighed. “Look, Steve, I don’t wanna push you. I just really, genuinely, as both a friend and your handler, think you need to get what’s eating you up out in the open and deal with it. I know there’s stuff you don’t like talking about with me and the team. It would be good to see someone who’s trained to listen and has no involvement in your day-to-day.”

Steve stood abruptly. “I’m not interested, end of story.”

Sam leaned back. “Okay.”

“I should shower. You got a mission for me?”

“Not today.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

Steve stormed off, slamming through the stairwell door and pounding down the steps to Nat’s floor. The redhead was sitting on the couch towelling her hair dry; her eyes tracked Steve as the blonde dropped angrily into an armchair.

“Aw, did you two have a fight?”

“Don’t push me, Romanov.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna talk about it, _Rogers_ ,” she flicked the towel at Steve, “So spill.”

 

The blonde clenched her jaw. “She’s so stubborn!”

“And you’re not? Sam just wants to help.”

“Well I don’t need it.”

“Steve,” Natasha smiled, “If you thought one of your teammates was in trouble, you’d do whatever you could to help - whether they appreciated it or not. It’s part of watching each other’s back.”

She crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t make them feel like an asshole about it though. I’m not an idiot, Tash. I know therapy’s pretty common now, and I think that’s great. There were plenty of people I knew during the war who could have used some. I just don’t wanna dredge through all the shit in my head and dump it on anyone else.”

“They’re trained to deal with that, you know. Kinda their job.”

Steve fixed her with a dubious look. “Are you telling me there’s nothing you wouldn’t discuss with a psych? Nothing you’ve done, or thought, that you would want to hold onto?”

Natasha shrugged. “I know my image of myself is always going to be biased. The only way I can really understand who I am is to ask around and compare perspectives.”

“Well I know who I am.” The blonde pouted.

“You don’t have questions? Doubts?”

“Of course I do, but that’s just life.”

She took a breath. “Steve, you wouldn’t have to talk about Bucky. You could discuss other things-”

“He’d come up anyway, Nat. He was…he was always there. And now he’s this huge hole in my chest, and I can’t talk about it. Not yet, anyway.”

Natasha moved to the arm of the chair, running her fingers through Steve’s hair to straighten the curls. “Do you want me to talk to Sam?”

The other woman sighed. “Nah, I should apologise for rushin’ off. Thanks for listening though.”

“Anytime. Actually, I’ve been thinking we should go out.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “You mean…go out, or ’go out’?”

The Russian rolled her eyes. “A girls’ night. I don’t date colleagues.”

“Probably a smart move,” she smiled wryly, “I don’t know, Nat. I’m not really feeling up to it.”

“Come on,” she smiled, “I’ll teach you how to flirt.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You wouldn’t be the first to try.”

“Can’t stay in the Tower forever.”

“I went jogging with you like an hour ago.”

Nat shrugged. “Did you meet anybody cute while we were out there? Get any numbers? Join a book club? Sign up for a knitting course?”

“No.” Steve said lamely.

“Then we’re gonna go out, dance our butts off, and talk to some people who don’t work for a covert espionage agency for once.”

“It’ll be my first time dancing with a girl.” The blonde smiled.

Natasha winked. “I’ll be gentle.”

 

Steve gave herself a once-over in the mirror and tugged her hem straight, turning to check the back. She might have griped in the store but Sam was right about showing some skin: the short black dress drew just the right amount of attention to her strong legs. It was pretty demure from the waist up too, a simple scoop neckline with cap sleeves that was feminine and soft and made Steve feel girly in a nice way.

There was a knock and Natasha opened the bathroom door, sticking her head in. “Hot.”

“Thanks. You look great.”

The redhead was wearing a black top that cut across her chest and left her shoulders bare, the sleeves coming down to her elbows. Her pencil skirt was bright red and high-waisted, the shirt cropped high enough to reveal a thin sliver of skin between the two. Her scarlet hair hung in tight curls.

“Do you need help with your hair?”

“I was just going to leave it down, maybe pin it off my face?” the blonde mused, “You could do my make-up though. I’m not used to real cosmetics.”

“What have you got?” Nat leaned against the counter.

Steve opened the vanity and pulled out the little box. She’d been too embarrassed to let the sales assistants give her a makeover, so she’d just bought a mixed case of colours and some brushes and sponges. Nat looked it over critically and nodded.

“My foundation’s too pale for you but your complexion’s super-serum perfect anyway, so we’ll skip it. Bring in a couple of chairs while I grab my stuff.”

Steve grabbed the stools from her kitchen island and sat in front of the sink, running a brush through her hair. By the time she’d finished pinning it out of the way Natasha was back with a couple of tubes of mascara and a bronzing palette. She sat opposite the blonde and screwed up her face like an artist considering the subject. She picked up a thick brush and opened the case, loading it with powder.

Steve shifted nervously, feeling an overwhelming urge to fidget now that she was supposed to be sitting still. “Tash, I wanna say something about tonight.”

“Yeah?” she said, sweeping the brush along the other woman’s cheekbone.

“I know that you want me to meet people and talk to strangers, and that’s fine. I probably should get to know someone outside of the team. But I’m not interested in…I’m not ready to flirt with anyone, or even be flirted with, and I just-”

“Hey,” Nat sat back, catching her eye, “It’s okay. Tonight’s about having fun. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. I’ll even chase guys off for you if you need it.”

Steve exhaled in a rush. “Good, because I’m worried I’m gonna freeze up the second someone hits on me.”

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how to deter unwanted attention, but I’ll be there regardless. We’ll be chatty and friendly, but it’s not about picking up.”

“I think I can handle friendly.”

“I know you can.”

Steve glanced at herself in the mirror, smiling. She was learning to like Tony, who could be so similar to his father it made her stop in the middle of a conversation, fighting for breath. Under all his bluff and bravado, Stark was a good man, and she appreciated the struggle he’d gone through to get there. But she really liked Natasha - she liked her easy way of navigating difficult conversations. She reminded Steve of the Academy girls, especially Velma, but unlike them she hadn’t volunteered for that life – and in some ways Steve could relate to having choices made for you too. She was glad to have someone around who never took it for granted that Steve understood things but didn’t baby her either, and she was grateful for the unwavering confidence Nat seemed to have in Steve, even when the blonde didn’t feel very sure of herself.

 “Maybe we could do this with Pepper when she gets back. I’m sure she’d love a chance to blow off some steam.”

“Tony would be soooo jealous,” the redhead smirked, “I can imagine the tantrum.”

Steve chuckled. “It’s good for him to not be the centre of attention all the time. Keeps his ego in check.”

 

The cab pulled up to the kerb and Steve took a deep breath, nervously eyeing the long line of people waiting outside the club. Natasha squeezed her hand.

“You ready?”

“Not really?”

“You’ve got this, Rogers. Just follow my lead.”

“Can’t be scarier than fighting Nazis, right?” she forced a smile.

Natasha climbed out and Steve hurried after her, closing the door a little too hard and wincing as the metal dented under her fingers. It wasn’t super noticeable though so she didn’t say anything to Nat, clasping her hands around her biceps to avoid further incident as the two women walked towards the front door.

“What about the line?” Steve frowned.

“We don’t have to wait.” the redhead shrugged.

“Is the doorman a contact or something?”

Nat stopped, turning to regard her with obvious amusement. “Steve, I know it’s been awhile but I assume you understand the concept of feminine wiles?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I don’t mind waiting though, and it’s rude to cut in.”

“The street’s exposed, Rogers,” her mouth turned grim, “I don’t hang around on the sidewalk if I can help it.”

Steve immediately felt bad. Just because her enemies were long dead didn’t mean she could be complacent about her safety, or her teammates’.  “Good point. Go ahead.”

Nat turned, stern expression instantly melting in a mischievous, inviting smile. “Hi.”

The bouncer was about 6’3”, broader than Steve with a shaved head and a nice charcoal suit, and looked just surly enough to scare the riff-raff without giving off a serious thug vibe. He glanced down at Natasha and froze like an awkward teenager.

“Uh, hi.”

“I hate to bother you, but I was wondering how long the wait is?” she rubbed her forearms briskly, pushing her boobs together, “I’m not super dressed for the weather.”

She paired it with another charming smile. Steve stood behind her trying to look appealing, or at least friendly, but she was afraid it came out mostly stiff.

“It’s about forty minutes.” The bouncer said.

“Oh no,” Nat grimaced, biting her lip, “What do you think, Stevie?”

The blonde made a disappointed face. “You’ll get pneumonia if you stand around in that outfit. Let’s find somewhere with a shorter line.”

The other woman sighed, looking up at the doorman through her lashes. “I guess that’s the smart choice.”

The bouncer’s eyes darted to the line for a second before returning to Nat’s chest. “Maybe I can squeeze you two in early.”

 

“Really?” the redhead brightened.

“Yeah. I mean what kind of asshole would I be if I let you freeze?”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so nice of you! Thank you so much.”

He smiled. “Go on in, ladies.”

They slipped past, Natasha glancing back over her shoulder to give him another smile, and then they were in a small lobby full of booming bass.

“Wow,” Steve shook her head, “I can’t believe that worked.”

She shrugged. “Hot women are good for business.”

“Yeah, but the damsel in distress act is so transparent.”

Nat opened the door to the main room and the noise tripled, making Steve wince. She was used to explosions and gunfire; electronic music was much, much harder to tolerate.

“You gonna stand there all night?” the Russian smirked.

“No!” Steve retorted, “Just getting my bearings.”

“Deep breath, Rogers. Follow me.”

She walked in, the blonde quick to follow – she didn’t want to get separated in the heaving mass. Natasha slipped between dancers like it was nothing, surging towards the bar with the patient focus of a scalpel cutting a straight line. Steve was big enough that she wasn’t easily jostled but she tried to sidestep out of the way as much as possible, sneaking into gaps that disappeared again just as abruptly. The room was humid with the body heat of a few hundred sweating, dancing people; the air seemed to stick in her throat, but she pushed through it and kept her eyes on the target.

They reached the bar and Nat made sure they had some space, leaning forward to check on the bartender before glancing up at Steve. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” the blonde glanced around, “Bit claustrophobic, but I’ve had worse.”

“What are you drinking?”

She shook her head. “Don’t waste your money. I can’t get drunk anyway.”

“Rogers, it’s not about getting drunk, it’s about the flavour,” she gave the other woman a wry look, “What did they teach you kids in the ‘40s?”

“How to make do with whatever we could get our hands on,” Steve smiled, “Okay, I’ll have a…uh…help?”

Nat squinted speculatively, looked her up and down, and gave a short nod. “Piña colada.”

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

Steve looked over her shoulder. “Pretty sure I’ve proven that already.”

“Relax, Rogers. You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”

“At least I know I could handle that.”

Nat kissed her cheek. “We’re gonna have fun, I promise. Just try to loosen up a little.”

“Loosen up,” Steve sighed, “I’ll give it a shot.”

 

They got their drinks and Natasha hustled her away from the clamouring of the bar to a slightly quieter spot by the wall. Steve eyed her creamy concoction dubiously but took a sip, brows shooting up.

“Not bad.”

“Figured you didn’t get much exposure to tropical flavours back in your day.” Nat leaned in to make herself heard over the music.

“I wasn’t much of a cocktail person back then anyway.”

The redhead smiled. “I almost wish I’d been there to see you in your element.”

“I don’t know about ‘my element’,” Steve grimaced, “Things only got good for me after Project Rebirth, and it was a subjective kinda good anyway. But I’d have liked to know you back then, just so I could introduce you to my friends.”

“I think I would have liked them,” she tilted her head, “If they were anything like you.”

“Tony says I’m one of a kind.”

“He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.” Nat winked.

Steve laughed, playing with her straw. The music was too loud for them to have a proper conversation, even with her enhanced hearing, so she let her eyes roam instead as she took another sip. The dance floor was packed with people doing a lot of jerking and grinding that looked more like a coordinated mass epileptic fit than any dance she was familiar with – but Steve sort of liked it; it seemed freer, less restrained. She bobbed her head a little, getting into the beat.

They let a couple of songs pass, Natasha seemingly happy to sit back and watch while Steve got used to the lights and the noise and the crowd. She drank her gin and tonic in slow swigs, hips swaying, eyes flashing daggers at anyone who got close. When her glass was empty, she set it on a table and offered Steve her hand.

“Ready to shake your stuff, Styopka?”

The blonde gulped down the rest of her drink and put it aside, taking the offered hand. “Lead on, Tash.”

She held on tight as they wove their way around the room to a spot near the emergency exit. Nat waded into the sea of flailing arms like a ship riding the crest of a storm, flowing with the movement instead of forcing her way through. She got them both next to the wall by the stage, not too close to the speakers with a strategic view of the room, and Steve had to admire the way the redhead could seem so completely relaxed and yet be so aware of her surroundings.

“What now?” she yelled.

Natasha grinned. “Now just go with it.”

“You got any more specific instructions?”

“No orders, agent. Stop thinking for once and let your body handle it.”

 

Steve regarded her unhappily but scanned the people around them. She could do this; she was trained to mimic others, to blend in. She let the music fill her head and started moving, stiffly at first, like her muscles were still cramped from all that time in the ice. She watched the way Nat danced, her body lithe and boneless, and even though Steve knew she was too big and broad to really pull it off she copied the slinky moves until she felt herself starting to loosen up. She could see the same feeling on Natasha’s face too, the redhead’s eyes half-closed as she tipped her head back with a rare dreamy smile.

It was an odd kind of disorientation; Steve didn’t know any of the songs so she just had to let them carry her along, lost in a timeless, isolated place where there was nothing she had to do and no one to worry about. In some ways it was similar to how she felt most days, like she was drifting and she couldn’t put her feet on the ground, was never sure of her purpose. At least at the club there was no pressure to sort her shit out – maybe that was the basis of its appeal; maybe everyone there was looking for an excuse to take a break from their lives. Steve could certainly sympathise with that.

“You’re looking awfully thoughtful, Rogers.” Nat teased.

“No thoughts, promise.” the blonde smiled.

“You’re in the moment? Not off down Memory Lane?”

“I’m here.” Steve nodded.

The redhead’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Took you long enough.”

Steve wasn’t sure if she meant the years in the ice or the six months since, but either way she was right.  “Next time I get to pick the club.”

Natasha laughed. “Deal.”

*****

Steve leaned back in her armchair, sketchpad in her lap as she drew the outline of the surrounding skyscrapers. She wanted to capture the way the light hit the glass before the sun moved, but her fingers felt clumsy after so long without practice and she wasn’t as fast as she used to be.

Someone leaned over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

She glanced up at Tony. “I don’t like to make a big deal about it. I’m nothin’ special.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She handed him the sketchpad and he flicked back through the pages, studying the small portraits she’d made of buildings or people on the subway.

“I’ve been using it as a way of getting my head around how the city works, I guess. I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s like putting them on the page helps me file them neatly away up here.” She tapped her temple.

Tony gave it back. “You’re good, Golden Girl. Maybe you should spend some of your money on proper training.”

“Golden Girl?” she frowned.

“Like the TV show. You know, cos you’re old.”

Steve sighed, going back to her page. “You shouldn’t sass your elders, especially when they’re stronger than you.”

“You don’t scare me, Rogers. I know your weakness.”

“What’s that?” she smirked.

“Hazelnut ice cream. Wanna get some?”

“You’re ordering in?”

“Actually,” he sat on the arm of her chair, “I was thinking we could take a trip to MoMA. Maybe the Guggenheim. Round it out with a stop at the Met.”

“ _You_ wanna take me to a bunch of art galleries?” Steve raised her brows.

Tony frowned. “I like art – have you seen my collection?”

“The collection Pepper curated for ten years that you donated to the Boy Scouts of America in a moment of existential crisis?”

The inventor beamed. “That’s the one.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“Well then you’ll know that – besides Pepper – I am the very best person to give you a tour of New York’s masterpieces. So, you interested?”

Steve bit her lip, glancing at the skyline. Leaving the Tower would mean changing into actual clothes, and being around people, and spending a lot of one-on-one time listening to Tony chatter. It sounded incredibly frustrating – but with the light already passing she couldn’t finish her sketch today, and she did want to see the museums.

“Okay.”

“Alright! Go put some pants on and we’ll hit the road.”

 

Steve ran her eyes along the deep blue curve of the landscape, gaze drawn to the star-covered sky. The piece was beautiful despite its darkness, layers of black, navy and indigo somehow gleaming next to each other. She could almost see it moving, like waves in deep water, like a memory on the edge of her brain.

There was a loud crunch behind her as Tony bit a chunk out of his ice cream. “This one’s depressing.”

“I was just thinking it’s quite peaceful, actually,” Steve frowned at him, “You’re gonna get yourself thrown out.”

Tony took another lick of his cone with a shrug. “Rogers, I’m a genius billionaire with good looks who occasionally saves the world. I can get away with anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do you think it’s depressing?”

He cleared his throat. “Reminds me of the void.”

She cringed inwardly and gave him an awkward smile. “It’s a little cold. The brushwork’s nice though.”

“If you’re into that sort of thing.” The inventor shrugged, his apathetic act not quite convincing enough.

Steve wandered to the next painting and stopped, studying the perspective. Tony followed wordlessly like a planet orbiting the sun, hovering at her shoulder. There was a trio of schoolgirls hovering behind _his_ , giggling to themselves just loud enough to be distracting, but Steve was trying to be better about shutting out background noise so she didn’t say anything. If she let herself get worked up about every barking dog and every college student with their music playing too loud, she’d never have time for anything else.

“Are you sure you’re not bored yet?” she asked.

“I’m offended, Steven. I’m perfectly capable of spending hours focused on one thing.”

“Sure, if that thing is a new project or a naked Pepper, but you can barely sit still through a movie unless it’s got the requisite number of explosions. Art galleries aren’t exactly exciting.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t interested, Rogers. It’s not like I’m tryin’ to get into your pants.”

“Luckily for both of us. I’d hate to watch you embarrass yourself.”

“Hey, speaking of which,” Tony perked up, “Moment of morbid curiosity - did you and Dad ever field test the goods?”

Tony!” Steve hissed, “Jesus, you can’t talk about women like they’re lab experiments.”

“Even if you are?” he arched a brow, “Relax, Steve. I think about everything like that, you know: variables, parameters, control samples.”

“Then I feel sorry for you.”

 

“Why? Works for me.”

“Yeah, but this,” she waved at the artwork, “Isn’t about variables or controlled conditions or test runs. This is beauty. You can’t quantify that.”

“You can observe it though, and analyse it, which is a kind of science.”

She sighed. “It’s not the same and you know it. You can’t distil it down to a formula and mass produce it.”

Tony smirked, tilting his head. “Can’t help but notice you’re ducking the question, Rogers.”

“No, Stark,” Steve rolled her eyes, “I never slept with your father, though he gave it a shot.”

The inventor snorted. “He would.”

She stopped, frowning. “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to lose them both so young.”

“Parents die, right? Happens to everyone.” He shrugged, expression closing off as he took another bite of his ice cream.

“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it,” she bit her lip, “And I only knew him when he was young, before you and your mother. But if you ever have any questions about what he was like back then, I’ll do my best to answer.”

Tony paused, running his tongue over his teeth. His face twitched like he was trying to hold something in, and he cleared his throat before he answered. “Thanks for the offer, Rogers, but I’m pretty sure me and the old man are as good as we’re gonna get.”

“Okay. Keep it in mind though. I’d like to be able to do something worthwhile with all this stuff in my head.”

“You could be a history teacher!” Tony perked up, “Or play cards with World War II vets, or teach self-defence classes for women, or be a live model for art students, with the bangin’ figure and all-”

“Tony.” She glowered.

He acted like he hadn’t heard her. “Or work with some kind of youth sports program, or help settle new migrants and refugees, given that you’re sorta new here too, or-”

The billionaire kept rambling, and Steve felt a cold weight growing in her stomach. The way Tony rattled off options made it sound like she had all the opportunities in the world, and she had to acknowledge some of them were nice ideas. But she didn’t want to do it, any of it. She didn’t want to have to think about her future. She couldn’t imagine rebuilding her life after everything that had happened, not in any permanent way. Living at the Tower and working with the team were easier; there were less expectations, less socialising, and fighting bad guys was what she did best. She didn’t have to worry about letting anyone down.

“Thanks Tony, but I’ve got a job, remember? At SHIELD?”

He scoffed. “You’re too good for them, Rogers. And you’re too stubborn to be a dutiful agent all your life. One day soon you’re gonna slug Fury in his stupid teeth, and then you’ll be free to rebrand yourself into whoever you wanna be.”

“Like you did?” she said.

“Exactly.”

“I like being an Avenger. I like helping people.”

Tony met her eye with a sneer, shaking his head. “Yeah right. Don’t get too comfortable in the Tower, Stevie – there’s a whole world down here.”

He wandered on to the next piece and left the blonde clenching her fist against her leg. “Easy for you to say.”

 

Steve did spend a lot of time in the Tower. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with the outside world; she’d picked up the new technology quickly, and she’d done enough online research to feel like she could interact with society when she needed to. She just didn’t have much of a reason to leave. On the days when Fury didn’t call them in for a mission, she barely had a reason to get out of bed, let alone her apartment. Steve was perfectly capable of going half a week without changing out of her pyjamas, and while she felt slightly guilty about what her ma and Bucky and Peggy would have said about taking care of herself, it didn’t seem important.

She still went down to the gym after her nightmares, pounding her fists mechanically as if she could punch the memories out of her head. Workouts were simple, the routine asking little in the way of mental stamina but requiring just enough focus that she couldn’t lose herself in reminiscing while her body moved and strained. There was a two-storey climbing wall in one corner with varying degrees of difficultly and Steve challenged herself to work through them all, not because she was particularly inspired to do so, just because it would eat up a few extra minutes a day. And once she’d done them, she went back and did it again in weirder and harder variations, using just her hands or climbing feet-first.

One morning she was hanging by two fingers about three-quarters of the way up, just hanging, no urge to move up or down. Eventually it would start to hurt and she’d have to move, but until then Steve didn’t want to do anything but stare at the bright red crash mats below her. They were a long way down for a regular person, but not Steve; she’d have to fall from the top of the Tower to get more than a couple of shattered bones. Hadn’t Bucky proven that? It was strange how she’d spent most of her life wishing she could be healthy, and now she was unbreakable and unhappier than she’d ever been when she was sick in bed and fighting to survive.

Maybe that was the problem – she never had to fight for herself anymore. Things came easily now; she was in the best shape humanly possible, she was rich, she lived in an amazing apartment that she didn’t have to share with anyone. She was technically the Avengers leader but it wasn’t the same as the Commandos, where she was free to drag them across Europe and chase down her foes; now she was Fury’s attack dog, and she bit where he pointed. That was alright though – following instructions was straightforward. Steve could do as she was told; it was better than having to make decisions about what to do next.

The gym door opened and she tilted her head back over her shoulder to see who it was. Sam had paused near the entrance, staring at her with wry disbelief. She was dressed for cold weather, a black bag over her shoulder.

“Do you go out of your way to make everyone else look bad, or is it just a coincidence?”

Steve let go of the wall, her heart leaping into her throat for a second before landing neatly on her feet. “I’m just playing the hand I was dealt.”

“Sure, seems like a tough one. You still got some juice?”

“Always.”

Sam shrugged, making the bag jingle. “Thought we could go skating at the Rockefeller Centre.”

Steve bit her lip. “Ice skating?”

“I assume you’ve done it before?”

 

She shook her head. “I was too fragile when I was younger, and then during the war I was kinda preoccupied with other stuff. Ice skates were a bit of a luxury for us city kids anyway.”

“Great,” Sam smiled, “Maybe I’ll actually be better than you at something for once.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m gonna head upstairs and shower.”

The agent raised her brows. “What happened to the juice?”

“I’m just not in the mood, that’s all.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

Steve shrugged, grabbing her water bottle and towel. “Sorry. We’ll go another day.”

“And miss this rare slice of sunshine? Uh-uh, Steve, no way. Come on, we’ll get pretzels afterwards.”

The blonde tried to keep her voice casual. “Another time, I promise. I’m not gonna be any fun if I don’t want to be there.”

She tried to walk past and Sam grabbed her shoulder gently, forcing Steve to meet her gaze. “Agent, do we need to have another conversation about getting your mind right?”

“Is it a crime to not want to go skating now?” she shook off Sam’s hand with a snort.

“It should be a crime to hide yourself away as much as you have been. You think Natasha wouldn’t tell me you’ve barely left the Tower in weeks? That you haven’t been going to movie night with her and Tony, and that pretty much the only time you leave your apartment is to work out?”

“Fucking spy. I should have known she’d be reporting on my movements.” Steve muttered, putting her hands on her hips with a sigh.

“She just wants to help you, Steve – like I do. You can’t shut yourself up in this place like goddamn Rapunzel.”

“Why not?” Steve blurted, “Why can’t I do what I wanna do without having everyone on my ass about it?”

“It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not a fucking hermit, Sam. I go out. I go to the store. I go jogging in the Park. I take the subway, like a normal New Yorker. Don’t trouble yourself about me; I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Rogers. We both know, and we could sure argue about it for the rest of the day, but you asked me to lay off the therapist talk so I will. But I would like it if you came ice skating with me and got some fresh air, cos you’re decent company when you’re not being a petulant ass. How about it?”

The blonde folded her arms, staring at the floor. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Just go with Sam, try something new, come back. An hour or two tops, and nothing overly complicated like having to pretend she was optimistic about things.

“Fine. Teach me to skate, handler.”

“Alright. Go change into something warm, and make sure it’s got padding on the ass – you are gonna fall down a lot.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You sound pleased about it.”

“Are you kidding? It’s gonna be awesome.”

*****

She wasn’t sure what time of day it was, and she didn’t have the energy to ask Jarvis. The windows were dark but that didn’t mean anything. Steve wrapped herself tighter in her blankets and stared at the wall, completely unbothered by how boring and quiet it was.

“Agent Rogers, Agent Wilson is here to see you.” The AI said.

“Tell her I’m sleeping.”

There was a pause and then someone in the other room made an angry noise, the bedroom door slamming open a moment later.

“Aw hell no! Steven Grant Rogers, your mama would be ashamed of you right now, stewing in your own stench like some nut job living in a cave.”

“What would you know about it? You never met her.”

“Because no mother would be okay with this. Look at yourself, girl! You need to let us help you.”

The blonde sat up angrily, shoving her linen out of the way. “I don’t remember inviting you in, Sam. I didn’t ask you to stick your nose where it’s not wanted!”

“Steve, if you keep this up I’m gonna have to tell Fury you’re not fit for duty.”

“What?” she gaped, “That’s bull and you know it – when have I ever fucked up on a mission?”

Sam folded her arms over her chest. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re letting your personal life decay around you, so what’s to stop that disorganisation bleeding into your work? Someone could get hurt, Steve.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You might not see it coming.”

“My eyesight’s great, thanks.”

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “Steve, please talk to someone.”

“Why? What’s the point? Talking won’t change things.”

“You don’t know that unless you try.”

The blonde gave a cynical laugh. “Trust me, I could yammer til I’m blue in the face but it won’t bring back the dead.”

“Maybe not, but if you don’t share that grief with someone else it’s going to kill you.”

“I wish it would!” Steve yelled, “I was supposed to die! It was all supposed to be over. I put that plane in the water and I was ready to go, to just let everything fall off my shoulders and not have to deal with it anymore. I was never meant to be here alone!”

Sam didn’t say anything, didn’t give her a pitying look; she just watched Steve until the other woman could feel that gaze peeling at her skin, until the words tumbled out again.

 

“Do you know what it’s like, Sam? To lose the man you love, the guy you’ve been with your whole life, and then to think you’re gonna die and be together again – except you’re not. You’re suddenly in the future with a bunch of weird people and places and stuff, and he’s not there, and he never will be again. And there’s no one around who knows, who really knows you or him or any of your shit. No one who could possibly understand, no one even from your generation who might have some idea how you think.”

She was crying now, the tears bursting over her cheeks, her voice thick and choked as she sniffed. Sam reached out and placed a hand over hers, letting it sit there for a minute until she was sure Steve wasn’t going to push her away. Then she folded the bigger woman in a hug, letting her weep into her shoulder. Steve’s shoulders shook, her chest trembling in a way it hadn’t since before the experiment, and she held onto Sam so tight she must have been hurting the agent but she couldn’t help it. She needed to know she was still there, that Sam wasn’t going to leave either.

She cried, and in a saner, more rational part of her brain she realised it was probably the first time she’d let it out since she’d woken up, and then she cried harder because she needed it so badly. She sobbed until the sounds were coming in short, breathless whimpers, and then she just rested her face on Sam’s shoulder and let herself calm down.

The agent stroked a hand down her back. “Better?”

Steve cleared her throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem. I think that was a long time coming.”

“I guess I felt like if I fell apart, I might not be able to hold it together again afterwards.”

“What changed?”

Steve sat back, scanning Sam’s face. “You were here, just being so pushy and making it clear you weren’t gonna let that happen.”

“Cos I’m not. And not because I’m your handler and it’s my job; I just want you to be happy, Steve. I want to get you back into the world.”

Steve wiped her face on her sleeves and Sam went into the ensuite, returning with a box of tissues. The blonde blew her nose a couple of times until her face felt lighter again, taking a deep breath.

“Maybe I do need a therapist.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Do you want me to find one, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

“I trust you.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. I’ll make you an appointment for tomorrow.”

She gave a vague nod in reply.

“Thanks for talking to me, Steve. I know it was hard, and I won’t pretend I can relate to your problems, but I’m here for you whenever you need it. Natasha is too, and Tony, and Pepper. You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah.”

Sam combed out her tangled hair, smiling. “How about we get you into a shower and some clean clothes, and then we’ll watch a stupid movie and eat a ton of popcorn?”

“That sounds doable.”

 

Steve rubbed her hands overs her thighs nervously, eyeing a framed inkblot on the other side of the waiting room. Was it a test? Was the doctor going to ask her what she saw? Maybe it was just art – it was quite beautiful really, with the flowing blobs and negative space. Maybe she could try painting something similar when she felt up to it.

The office door opened. “Miss Rogers?”

She stood, offering her hand. “That’s me.”

The psychiatrist shook it with a firm but warm smile. “Come in and take a seat.”

She walked in, glad to see there were no inkblots in the next room, and sat on a comfortable moss green leather couch facing a matching armchair. The office was nice but quite bare, a desk with a computer in the corner by the window and a couple of framed prints on the walls. Steve wondered if some of Dr Hendi’s patients were a threat to the furniture.

The therapist herself was maybe ten years older than Steve looked, Middle Eastern with gorgeous smooth tan skin and black hair pulled into a low chignon. Her dress was an ivory sheath that cut high across her shoulders and wouldn’t have looked out of place in Pepper’s closet, and her heels were sensibly low but obviously expensive. She sat facing Steve with her hands clasped in her lap and gave a small smile.

“I know it can be overwhelming to discuss your feelings with a stranger, particularly in your line of work. Today we’ll get to know each other a little better, and if you’re comfortable we might make a list of some of the bigger issues you’d like to work through in our sessions.”

Steve could handle that. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself?”

“I thought Sam gave you my file?” the blonde frowned.

“Agent Wilson did, yes, but merely reading the critical facts doesn’t give me much of a sense of your character,” Dr Hendi said, “I’d prefer to hear how you think of your life in your own words.”

Steve tapped the heel of her hand against her knee. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“That’s alright. We’ll start with the basics. You grew up during the Depression – that must have been hard.”

“It was rough, but we made do,” Steve shrugged, “I didn’t know any better, cos we were always poor even before that. My ma was trying to support the two of us on a nurse’s wage, and I was always sick. It made life tougher but not as much as for some people who had more to lose.”

“I’m sure there were some good times as well.”

She smiled. “Sure. Buck and I used to have as much fun as we could on the cheap. We used to go to Coney Island, or the pictures. It wasn’t always as dreary as history makes it out to be.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The doctor chuckled.

 

“This isn’t weird for you, is it?” Steve frowned, “Me being from the past and all?”

“You’re certainly one of the more unusual patients I’ve had, but I think you’ll find you share the same concerns. Your position may be more complex, but certainly not alien – feelings of disorientation or loss are common among veterans , no matter where they served.”

“I guess so.”

“How would you say you’ve felt, physically and emotionally, since you woke up?”

She sighed. “Tired. Lost. Like everything’s temporary and I shouldn’t get invested because it could all change again. I miss the people I used to know, and I haven’t been letting my new teammates in, so I’m lonely a lot.”

“What’s stopping you from getting close to them?” Dr Hendi asked, “Do you feel like they don’t want to spend time with you?”

“No, they’re very friendly in their own way.”

“Perhaps you feel they can’t relate to your situation?”

She screwed up her face. “Sometimes. There is an age difference, and a big gap in my general knowledge so I don’t always get their references. But they’ve been good about trying to bridge that.”

“Maybe that’s something we can work on, putting your thoughts into a framework that will allow you to communicate them more confidently.”

“Honestly?” Steve pouted, looking at her lap, “I guess I haven’t shared much because it hurts to imagine losing them. We have a dangerous job, and I don’t think I could handle going into the field knowing a friend could get hurt or killed – especially if it’s my fault.”

“You’re protecting yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s understandable. But by holding them at arm’s length, you’re denying yourself the basic human need for contact and support. From what you and Agent Wilson have told me, my preliminary diagnosis would be that you’re depressed, Steven. You won’t be able to change that unless you start making new connections with the people around you, no matter how scary it is.”

“Depressed? I can’t take medication, doc. My metabolism’s too fast.”

Dr Hendi raised a placating hand. “I understand. We’ll explore other treatment options – diet, exercise, social engagement and of course working through your issues during our appointments. I might get you to keep a diary and note down anything you’d like to discuss, including what triggered the thought and how you felt about it. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Some,” Steve said glumly, “I don’t need much anyway but I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Then I’ll ask you to write down those bad dreams too, so we can analyse them together and come up with strategies for clearing your mind when you’re overwhelmed.”

“Usually I just hit the gym.”

“I get the feeling you spend a lot of time there.”

Steve smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. It’s nice – there’s no one talking at me and nothing to think about. I can just be me, in this body, with no attachments or obligations.”

Dr Hendi nodded. “It’s good to have a retreat, but you need to be careful you don’t turn it into another hideaway. Let’s get back to our discussion, and before you leave we’ll think of some alternatives to isolating yourself when you have bad days, okay?”

 

Steve stepped into the elevator and looked at the number panel. Normally she’d just go straight back to her room, but Dr Hendi had said it was important to be social and get involved in things, and as confusing as therapy had been she knew being alone was not a good idea; she’d go crazy thinking about all the memories she’d dragged up. She hit the button for the common floor and rested against the handrail as the car glided upwards, the doors finally opening on the lower penthouse level.

There was music playing but she couldn’t see anyone as she stepped out. Steve hung her jacket over the arm of the couch and walked into the kitchen to find Natasha making a cup of tea by the sink, dressed in jeans and a baggy T-shirt that looked like it might have once belonged to Clint.

“Hey,” the redhead smiled, “Want some tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She took down a second mug. “How was it?”

Steve pulled out a stool and sat, circling her fingers on the island. “Good, I think. I liked Dr Hendi. She seemed to have a solid plan and she wasn’t bothered about me being a senior citizen or a superhero.”

“That’s great!”

“I have to go everyday though, barring emergencies,” Steve sighed, “I don’t know if I can talk about myself that much.”

Natasha laughed. “Trust me Rogers, you’ll manage. Pretend you’re Tony.”

“Urgh, god no. I’ve got enough problems, thank you.”

“Ditto. I’m glad you’re sorting yours out though. Our Tower quota for fucked-up adults is already maxed.”

“You seem pretty put together.”

“I’m trained to pretend, Rogers.”

“Me too,” the blonde pointed out, “I just don’t seem to be doing a great job of it lately.”

Nat set Steve’s tea on the counter and climbed onto the edge, blowing the steam off her own mug. “You shouldn’t have to hide from us. We’re a team.”

“I’m starting to get that.”

“Speaking of which, I should probably apologise. Sam told me she mentioned to you that I raised some concerns about your behaviour, and I don’t want you to think I’m keeping an eye on you for Fury-”

“It’s fine, Tash. I know you were just doing what you thought was best for me and the group, and I dare say you were right. I needed help but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. You were just lookin’ out for me.”

“Trying to, anyway.” She curled her lip.

“Well I promise in future I’ll let you, instead of insisting I can manage alone.”

“You’d better. We’re fighting the impossible fight, pushing the limits of human knowledge and ability against crazy super villains who wanna destroy the world. We need each other.”

Steve took her hand. “I want to be what you guys need.”

Tony walked in and stopped. “Where was my invite to this lovefest? I’m offended, left out in my own tower.”

“I’m sure Dum-E will hold your hand if you ask nicely.” Nat smirked, sipping her tea.

“Dum-E’s not a gorgeous and lethal secret agent.”

“He could be,” Steve mused, “Nat, you got any wigs?”

“Sure. I’ve got a lipstick that’s just the right shade too.”

Steve turned to Tony. “Hope Pepper’s not the jealous type.”

“Oh please Styopka, like he didn’t build himself a dozen sex robots as a horny teenager.”

“On second thoughts, I think I’ll give the party a miss.” Tony sniffed.

Steve laughed. “We’re just jokin’ around. Stay, have a coffee – you’ve probably only had what, eleven already?”

“You don’t joke, Rogers.”

“I’m giving it a whirl.” She shrugged.

“It’s a good look on you,” he leered, “Right, impromptu kitchen party! Jarvis, fire up the espresso machine. Romanov, grab the whiskey under the sink – it’s about to get Irish in here.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Steve thought about running away, plastic creaking as she dug her fingers into the edge of the chair, and decided there was still time to make her escape. She didn’t move though, foot tapping anxiously, eyes on the empty doorway. The clock on the wall was ticking at an obscene volume, thudding louder than her heart in her ears. She thought about sprinting for the car park before it was too late, shifting her weight in preparation.

“Miss Rogers?”

She flinched and turned towards the nurse, smile too big as she tried not to look guilty. “Yes.”

“You can go in now. Follow me.”

Steve stood, smoothing the creases out of her skirt and checking her hair hadn’t tangled itself while she wasn’t looking. The nurse waited patiently, a hand on her hip. She was a bigger woman in hot pink scrubs that seemed shocking against the calm beiges and greys of the waiting room, but she looked kind. They walked down a corridor that could have belonged to any large country house, cream walls hung with inoffensive landscapes, big heavily-framed windows letting in lots of light. The doors were clinical though, with viewing windows and name plaques, and no locks.

The nurse opened a door near the end and stepped inside, revealing a room with elegant finishes but no soft coverings: the chairs and the floor were vinyl, and the windows had folding shutters instead of curtains or blinds. A frail-looking woman with long white hair lay in a hospital bed, and as the nurse leaned down next to her, Steve’s throat got so dry it felt like the walls had clamped shut.

“Margaret,” the nurse cooed quietly, “You’ve got a visitor.”

She frowned in confusion and shakily lifted her head, mouth dropping open when she saw Steve. The blonde wanted to cry as the unknown, wrinkled face broke into a smile she’d seen in her dreams. “Steve?”

“Hi Peg.”

The nurse smiled. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She closed the door behind her, and Steve tentatively crept closer. Peggy reached out a hand and the other woman sat, letting the former agent touch her face.

“It’s really you?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, “Who’d have thought, huh?”

“How is this possible? You were gone – even Howard couldn’t find you.”

“I don’t know. Miracle, I guess. Or bad luck, depending on how you look at it.”

“God, I can’t believe it,” Peggy took Steve’s hand, clasping it in both of hers, “After all these years. You still look exactly the same.”

“You’re just as gorgeous as you always were.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You needn’t flatter me, dear. I’m long past the point of vanity.”

“It’s true though.” Steve insisted.

“Is Bucky here with you?” Peggy asked, eyes bright with child-like excitement.

The blonde swallowed hard, managing to keep up her smile. “Nah Peg, it’s just me.”

“Oh.” She said, voice wavering.

“It’s good to see you.”

“This feels like a dream.”

Steve placed her other hand on top of Peggy’s. “It’s real, I promise.”

“You must tell me everything. How did this happen? What have you been doing?”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather hear about you.”

Peggy laughed. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

Steve raised the older woman’s hand to her lips. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

*****

The onions sizzled as Steve stirred absentmindedly, trying to read the recipe at the same time. She’d managed to drop a dollop of tomato paste on the tablet, obscuring what she was supposed to be adding next, but she couldn’t stop stirring to fix it.

“Jarvis, can you read this line out for me?”

“Certainly, Agent Rogers. The instructions call for half a teaspoon of salt.”

“Thanks.” The blonde ran a hand over her spice rack. The elevator opened and Natasha stepped out. “Hey. Wanna join me for dinner? It’s almost ready.”

She didn’t answer, marching straight to the cupboard over Steve’s fridge and taking down the emergency vodka Steve kept for visitors. The bottle was mostly untouched. Natasha took down a couple of glasses and filled them without a word, sliding one over to Steve as she downed the other.

“Bad day?”

The redhead sighed. “That’s an understatement.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Steve stirred the sauce. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring the food over?”

Nat grabbed the vodka and nodded, ignoring the island and the dining table to sit on the floor in front of the couch instead. Steve’s brows shot up but she focused on cooking, ladling pasta into two bowls and tossing the sauce through. She carried them to the coffee table and knelt opposite Natasha, shoving a fork at her.

“Bon appétit.”

“Thanks. Smells good.” She said, twisting the long strands around her fork.

They ate in silence, the blonde watching her cautiously and sipping her drink. She went back for seconds and thirds in the time it took Nat to finish, the other woman playing with her food distractedly. Finally Steve cleared her throat.

“Are you done with that?”

“Sorry,” she sighed, “There’s a lot going on in my head. The couple of bites I did have were delicious.”

She smiled, clearing the plates. “You’re too kind. Give me a minute and we can relax.”

She quickly threw the leftovers in a container and tidied up, chucking the pots and pans in the dishwasher. Then she filled a mixing bowl with ice and placed it between them, taking her seat as Nat refilled their glasses.

“You never told me how it went in Washington.”

 

Steve smiled sadly. “One minute she was the same Peggy as always, asking how I am and making me laugh, and the next she was just gone. Like a shell instead of a person, nothing behind her eyes.”

“I’m sorry.” Nat rasped.

She shrugged, watching the ice melt. “It’s one of those cruel things about getting old. If you live a long and happy life, you end up losing everything you loved about it – even yourself. It could have been me. It might still be.”

“How does that work for you? The aging process.”

“Erskine wasn’t sure because there was no precedent for how long the serum’s effects would last. We assumed it was permanent, given how uh, drastic the changes were. If my metabolic rate stays the same, I could theoretically stay young forever because my cells will just keep regenerating.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Sounds lonely.”

“Yeah. No offence to the future, but I think I’ll get sick of it after a hundred years or so.” She joked.

“There’s nothing they can do for her?” the other agent asked.

Steve shook her head. “If anyone had a cure it would be SHIELD.”

Natasha sat up, tracing her fingertips over Steve’s knuckles. “That’s life though, right? You just said so – people get old. We can’t control everything.”

“She had a good life,” the blonde shrugged, “I’m glad.”

“Were you two ever…”

“We were definitely interested before the experiment, but then things got complicated because I had so much to deal with. We said we’d figure it out after the war was over but getting involved with Bucky basically killed that. Maybe Peg and I could have worked it out if the plane hadn’t gone down, but I wouldn’t have been able to give her the things she deserved – marriage, kids.”

“Maybe things worked out for the best then.” Natasha raised her glass.

Steve gave a rueful smile and clinked the rim. “Maybe. I didn’t take you for the kind of person who believes in fate.”

“Normally I’m not, but after finding out about Asgard and magic, even I have to give some credence to the possibility that some things are meant to be. If you hadn’t stayed in the ice until now, you might not have been here to help us fight Loki, and we almost certainly would have lost. That sounds like one of those heroic tales Thor likes to sing, the ones where the heroes have to suffer and sacrifice before they can win.”

Steve laughed. “God, you’re a regular ray of sunshine tonight. You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“You gonna stop asking?” Nat raised a brow, smirking a challenge.

“Fair enough,” the blonde dipped her head, “I hate people pushing, so I won’t do it to you. We should lighten the mood though – Tony would kill me if I threw myself out the window and broke his building.”

“Jarvis, how about some music?” Natasha said, “Something upbeat.”

 

Whether it was the melody or the vodka, Nat did seem to shrug off her gloominess after a few songs. She even dragged Steve to her feet and made the blonde dance with her, the bigger woman surprising her by breaking into a foxtrot.

“I didn’t know you could move like this, Rogers.” she laughed.

“They taught us lots of dances at the Academy. I was always steppin’ on the girls’ toes.”

“Well don’t step on mine and we’ll keep being friends – you’re heavy as shit.”

Steve snorted. “It’s rude to comment on someone’s weight, Tasha.”

“Even if I’m right?”

“Especially then.”

They kept dancing, the blonde’s eyes darting to the floor every few steps to check they weren’t going to run into the furniture, hand resting lightly on Nat’s waist.

“When was the last time you got laid, Rogers?”

“Tasha!” she hissed, stumbling, “Jesus, how long have you been waiting to ambush me with that one?”

“Since we moved into the Tower.”

“Then I’m amazed you haven’t brought it up already.”  Steve muttered under her breath.

“I’m pretty sure you haven’t slept with anyone this century, but what about before?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

She made a pleading face. “Come on, Stevie. I thought we were friends.”

“That’s emotional blackmail.”

“I’m a spy,” Nat’s eyes twinkled, “I’ll tell you mine – it was three weeks ago. Your turn.”

Steve rolled her eyes. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“Too late.” Natasha smirked.

She sighed. “Fine. The last time – the only time – was the day before Bucky went missing.”

Nat stopped. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s alright.”

Her lips twitched. “So Bucky was your first?”

“Yep.”

“That’s really sweet.”

Steve smiled. “I guess it is.”

“Aw, Rogers,” Nat hugged her, “You’re adorable, do you know that?”

She laughed. “Thanks.”

“Now I get why you never wanna take anyone home when we go out.”

“Yeah. It would be way too weird. I don’t wanna start crying  afterwards or something terrible like that.”

Natasha pulled away, picking up her glass. “You just need time. We’ll get you back on that horse, Styopka.”

 

“Never have I ever…” Steve mused, finger pressed to her chin, “Kissed a stranger.”

“Are marks strangers?”

“No.”

Natasha threw back her shot, pouring another. “Okay. Never have I ever shoplifted – stealing on the job doesn’t count.”

Steve emptied her glass and the redhead burst out laughing.

“Rogers! Who’d have thought it?”

“Times were tough. Sometimes we borrowed what we needed. I was good about paying it back later.” She shrugged.

“Crime of necessity, huh? That’s less exciting.”

The blonde snickered. “Well excuse me. Didn’t mean to bore you.”

“Shut up and ask your question!” Nat grinned.

“Hmmm…never have I ever been shot.”

Natasha drank, brows raising. “Really?”

“Yep. With HYDRA’s weapons you couldn’t afford to get hit. One of my guys took a blast to the stomach and ended up with a big chunk missing.”

“Ouch.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ve been grazed a couple of times, but only really hit once.” She lifted the bottom of her shirt to reveal a thick white scar over her hip.

Steve winced. “Who did it, and how dead are they?”

“They’re not, at least not as far as I know.” Natasha picked up the bottle.

“What! How is that possible?”

“As much as I love your faith in me, I don’t always come out on top,” Nat’s smiled faded, “They call him the Winter Soldier, though he’s more like an intelligence community boogie man than a real person. Most people don’t actually believe he exists.”

“What happened?”

“Three years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tyres near Odessa. I lost control, went straight over a cliff. Pulled us out but the guy was waiting. He shot the scientist through me,” Nat gulped down her drink, “Didn’t even look at us when he pulled the trigger.”

 

Steve felt a tingle down her neck. She straightened, voice suddenly hard. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said he didn’t even look. Why?” the redhead frowned.

“What did he look like?”

She stuck her lip out thoughtfully. “About 5’9”, 260lbs, black tac gear. He had a mask that covered his face below the eyes. Short brown hair. His left arm was a metal prosthetic, big red star on his tricep.”

“Did you see him do anything super?’ Steve demanded, “Like outrun a car or throw a huge rock or-”

“Call down lightning? No, none of that. But he was a great shot.”

The blonde sat back against the couch, fiddling with the rim of her glass. It wasn’t much of a description, but it  _ could  _ be Bucky. How many one-armed snipers were there in the world? The SSR never had any luck finding his body, and Steve had checked SHIELD’s files but they didn’t know what happened to him either. Steve had spent a year trying not to think about it, knowing that if Bucky had survived the fall he would have found his way home somehow. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Tasha, if you dug around, could you find out more about him?”

“Weren’t you listening, Rogers? He’s a ghost. Nobody knows anything. If they did, I’d have already tracked him down and gotten some payback.”

“Bullshit, there’s always  _ something _ . People talk. People remember. And you’ve got better contacts than anyone, even Fury.”

The Russian sighed, shrugging. “Maybe I could try again. Why do you ask?”

“Because I think,” Steve stopped, mouth dry, “I think I used to know him.”

“What? There’s no way he’s that old, Rogers.”

“Maybe not, not if Zola’s formula was close enough to the real thing…” she trailed off, frowning.

“What are you talking about?”

“Zola was doing experiments on HYDRA’s prisoners, trying to recreate Erskine’s serum. He injected Bucky with his version and it seemed to have similar effects. I always said he couldn’t have died in the fall – what if I was right? What if someone took him and turned him into this Winter Soldier?”

The other woman stared at her for a long time before answering. “Steve…the chances of that-”

“I know, but I have to be sure. Will you help me?”

Natasha smiled lazily, pouring herself another shot and raising the glass. “Sounds like fun, Styopka.”

*****

It was the first time Steve had ever been on a commercial plane, and she couldn’t tell if she was fidgeting because the seats were so cramped or because she was obsessing over Bucky. It was the world’s longest shot and she knew it, and some part of Steve already hated herself for lining up yet another disappointment. It wasn’t all bad though – if they found the Winter Soldier and it wasn’t him, Nat could get her payback, and there’d be one less assassin in the world.

“Want my cheese?” the redhead held it up.

“I dunno, do I?” Steve arched a brow.

“Probably not,” Natasha dropped it back on the tray, “The plastic content’s questionable at best.”

“I think I got better rations in the army.” She huffed, leaning back in the seat.

“It’s called economy for a reason.”

Steve grimaced. “We should have accepted Tony’s offer to use the S.I. jet.”

Nat shook her head. “Too conspicuous. We wanna slip through Customs with all the other tourists. But you are definitely springing for Business Class from now on, Rogers, because if I have to watch you squirm in your chair for nine hours I at least want free booze and a hot towel to make up for it.”

“We’re not on vacation, Tasha.”

“Closest I’ve come in recent years.”

Steve sighed. “Fine. I owe you anyway for helping me.”

“No sweat, boss,” she smiled fondly, “I’m psyched. I never got to backpack around Europe like all the other college kids.”

The blonde grinned. “I did, but there was a war on at the time.”

“Exactly. Maybe we can slip in some sight-seeing while we’re searching for the love of your life.”

Steve blanched and Natasha pursed her lips.

“Too much?”

“Sorry. I’m a little tense right now.”

“Really?” she drawled, “I hadn’t noticed. You might wanna ease up on the armrests.”

Steve hastily pulled her hands to her chest, cringing at the fingertip dents in the metal. “Sorry!”

“It’s not my plane.” The spy shrugged.

“I think I’ll try to watch a movie or something. Take my mind off it.” She picked up her headphones.

“Good luck.”

Steve didn’t exactly manage to distract herself, but she did get through the rest of the flight without annoying Natasha or breaking anything, which seemed like a success. The seatbelt light came on as they started their descent into Moscow and she stiffened, shoulders drawn back as she clenched her teeth and stared at the ceiling.

A small hand slid into hers. “Just a routine landing, boss. We do it all the time in the quinjet.”

“The quinjet’s not as…big.” She muttered.

“The laws of physics still apply. We’ll be fine.” Nat squeezed her hand.

 

The second they stepped off the plane Nat switched into tourist mode, eyes bright as she chattered excitedly about mundane things like the lack of snow outside.

“I guess they have summer in Russia too, huh?”

Something about her persona made it easy for Steve to fall into character, the blonde slouching to downplay her height and muscle, gaping like a fish at the customs officers.

“What is the nature of your visit?” he asked gruffly.

“Definitely pleasure.” Steve flashed him a leer, Natasha giggling beside her.

The official waved them through and the redhead steered Steve towards a cab rank, pretending to look confused by the Cyrillic signage until they were in the backseat. Steve was happy to stay quiet on the way to their hotel, taking in the view and thinking up a cloud of questions she wanted to ask Natasha once they were alone. Which places did she remember fondly? Which ones did she hate? Which ones did she miss? Was it weird being back? Was she afraid of being recognised? Who was she going to talk to about Bucky?

They pulled up outside a rundown place that looked like it belonged in a Cold War era Bond film – all crumbling grey concrete and flat, opaque windows. But Steve trusted Nat’s judgement, so she unloaded their luggage without a word as the other spy paid the cabbie.

Nat glanced up at the building as he drove away. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but they keep the rooms warm and the sheets clean, and they don’t charge through the nose for it.”

“Looks cosy.” The blonde flashed her a smile. 

They breezed through check-in and walked up the narrow stairs, Steve careful not to bang their suitcases into the tight corners. Nat unlocked the door and started a through sweep, checking every inch of the walls and furniture before standing on the bed to run a hand over the top of the light fixture. Steve watched, not daring to speak until she nodded.

“We’re good.”

“Great. Do I need to unpack? How long are we planning to be here?”

Natasha shrugged, jumping off the bed to land lightly on the balls of her feet. “Depends how helpful my sources are. Could be a couple of days, could be weeks.”

Steve made a face. “I’ll unpack.”

“Don’t go crazy, Rogers – we might need to leave in a hurry if the Soldier gets wind we’re looking for him.”

“Right.”

She took her toiletry bag out of her case, carried it into the small bathroom and started lining things up by the sink. There was a soft snort behind her, and Steve turned to find Nat leaning on the door frame with her arms folded.

“You can take the girl out of the army…”

“What? I just like to know where everything is,” the blonde grinned, “So how does it feel to be home?”

“This isn’t home anymore.” Natasha shrugged half-heartedly, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

She frowned. “You don’t have anyone here you care about?”

The other woman pressed her lips together grimly. “No. I made sure of that.”

Steve bit back a grimace and let it go. “Who do we talk to first?”

“ _ We _ don’t talk to anyone, Styopka. I’m gonna drop by and see a few old friends, and you’re going to stay out of trouble until I get back,” her lips quirked, “Do you think you can manage that?”

Steve put a hand on her hip. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“That’s what I thought.”

 

Steve tried to keep herself busy while she waited for Nat, but it was a very small room and she was a very big woman, and she couldn’t concentrate on her book or her phone when it felt like the walls were so snug. She decided to take a walk; her Russian skills were limited but she could still look at things, and she could handle herself if anyone thought she was a tourist ripe for picking.

She checked their bags for anything valuable or incriminating and hid the few bits of tech and weaponry under a heavy wardrobe, confident no one else would be able to lift it. She locked the door carefully and headed out, giving the old woman behind the front desk a shy wave as she passed.

It was cool outside but not uncomfortable, and Steve randomly picked a direction and started walking. There were some other tourists around but most of the traffic was locals going about their afternoon business, heading home from work and ducking into the small shops along the high street. It was nice to be in a foreign place without anyone shooting at her; it was a welcome relief to be able to just walk and take in the sights, and not have to worry about giant aliens or mad scientist super villains.

Thinking about Schmidt drew her thoughts back to Bucky, and how she probably should have booked a session with Dr Hendi before launching into a dramatic international search. She felt like every emotion she’d ever had was balled up in her chest, all jumbled and fleeting so that she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t be excited about getting Buck back, because it might not be him, but she also couldn’t  _ not _ be excited about the sliver of a chance that it was.

The hardest part was figuring out what she was looking for. Was Steve expecting to get  _ her  _ Bucky back? If it was even possible, did she still want that? It had been a very long time since they’d laid on the floor of the mill and dreamed about getting married and having a family. The world had changed – Steve had changed. She didn’t know if she was ready to put down roots when she had so much still to experience, but she also wasn’t sure she’d be able to settle for friendship if that was all Bucky was willing (or able) to give her.

The blonde drew herself up, shaking her head. Of course she’d take whatever he wanted to give. Having him back at all would be a miracle; maybe with time they’d fall back into a comfortable routine, and then maybe a relationship, but she wasn’t going to force it. She just wanted to see him and know he was alive, and figure out how to help him.

Which led to another, more disturbing thought – Steve was working under the assumption Bucky had been taken, most likely by HYDRA, and turned into the Winter Soldier against his will. But what if he’d signed up for it? Maybe not at first – the Bucky who fell from the train would have fought tooth and nail to get back to her – but later, when everyone thought Steve was dead, he might have found it too hard to face the idea of going home without her. Maybe he’d let them use him, too broken to care. What could she do about that? In that scenario, Steve wasn’t the hero swooping in to rescue him, and she didn’t know what she’d do if the man she remembered had been corrupted and poisoned like that.

She sighed. “Get out of your head, Rogers. Plenty of time to mope later.”

 

Nat wasn’t at the hotel when she got back. Steve hung around for a bit, trying to entertain herself, but she kept looking at the door or stopping to listen for footsteps in the hall. Eventually she threw her coat back on, determined to find a distraction.

When Natasha did return, the other spy was sitting on the bed watching Benny Hill reruns on her laptop and chugging massive gulps of vodka from a bottle bigger than her head.

“Tash! Have you seen this guy? He’s hilarious.”

The redhead arched a brow, locking the door. “I’m familiar with his  _ oeuvre _ .”

“Want a drink?”

She sighed, flopping onto the bed and leaning on Steve’s shoulder. “Definitely.”

She handed the bottle over and Nat took a swig, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Why are you even bothering with this stuff? I’m pretty sure you could shotgun the whole thing and be sober enough to drive.”

Steve shrugged, almost dislodging her. “I needed something to concentrate on that wasn’t Bucky. How did you go? You were gone a long time.”

“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed back,” Nat took another mouthful, “Some of my friends are a little untrustworthy.”

Steve snorted. “Ya don’t say?”

“They weren’t very helpful either. Everyone looked spooked the second I mentioned the Soldier, and none of them could give me an answer straight away. A couple of guys said they’d ask around, and a couple more just wanted to recount old stories they’ve heard. They’re probably bullshit, but I took notes anyway – you never know what might be useful later.”

“Thanks.” Steve said, voice subdued.

“It’s only Day 1, Styopka,” she elbowed the blonde gently, “Don’t lose hope yet.”

Steve rested her head on Nat’s and squeezed her knee. “I’ll try.”

The agent took a long pull on the bottle and clucked her tongue, looking around. “I don’t know about you, but I could use something to eat that’s not airplane food.”

“Is it okay for you to be out in public?” Steve frowned.

“I’ll be fine. There are some nice little places in this neighbourhood, and I haven’t had real pierożki since before the Chitauri. You coming?”

Steve smiled. “Why the hell not?”

*****

Steve flicked her wrist and sent the playing card zipping into the bowl at the end of the bed, just like the forty before it. She knew it wasn’t a popular opinion, but games were a lot less fun when she always won. She sighed, dropping the rest of the deck and grinding the heel of her hands against her eyes.

They’d been in Moscow for eight days and she’d barely left the hotel room. Natasha, on the other hand, left around dawn and didn’t come back until dark. Steve knew she needed to be patient, but it was tough when she had all this drive to get moving.

The lock turned with a metallic rasp and Nat walked in, cheeks flushed. “Pack your stuff, Rogers.”

Steve sat up. “You got something?”

She threw open her suitcase with a smile. “Old KGB comrade of mine got a report about a car bombing in Madrid last week that sounds like our man.”

“Last week?” the blonde frowned, “He’ll be long gone.”

She shrugged. “It’s the most up-to-date intel we have. If we move fast we’ve got a decent chance of finding someone who saw him – an eyewitness, or an accomplice.”

Steve jumped up, opened the wardrobe and started stripping shirts off the hangers. “Let’s get moving then.”

“I’ve booked us a flight two hours from now. We’ll be in Spain in time for tapas.”

She smiled. “Ya know, if this whole super spy thing doesn’t work out, you’d make a good travel agent.”

“I’ve certainly got the contacts.”

 

As they left the climate-controlled terminal, the heat hit Steve like she’d stuck her face in an oven. The Mediterranean sun beamed down, bouncing off old stone and modern glass alike. By the time they reached the hotel Steve had stripped down to her singlet, and she could still feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck.

“I think I miss Moscow.” she huffed.

Natasha laughed, handing her a backpack. “I promise the hotel rooms here are just as cool.”

Steve gave her a look and the redhead paused.

“What?”

“So that’s it? I’m stuck in the room again until you find the next lead?”

Nat sighed. “Steve, the guys I know don’t like new people.”

“Even if you vouch for me?”

“They barely trust  _ me _ . We’ll get faster results if I don’t have to smooth things over every time.”

The blonde scowled, folding her arms over her chest. “I hate doing nothing. There must be some way I could help. I could ask around on my own - not your guys, just the locals. I was a spy too, you know.”

Natasha curled her lip. “I remember. Okay. It’s a good idea - we can cover more ground.”

They headed inside and checked in, Steve waiting patiently as Nat swept the room. Once she’d given the all-clear, Steve unpacked and ditched her jeans for a pair of shorts. She might not have room for weapons, but at least she wouldn’t get heatstroke.

“You said it was a carbomb?”

Nat nodded. “Local government official.”

“That sounds pretty small-time for someone with our guy’s rep.”

“He was a bigger deal than he seemed. Massive links to organised crime, but not important enough to warrant real protection.”

“Still, they coulda used anyone,” Steve bit her lip, “I mean, the Soldier’s a hands-on killer, right? Bomb doesn’t sound like his skillset.”

“What are you saying? Our lead’s a bust?”

Steve shook her head. “I’m thinking it was a cover for something else. Something we missed.”

Natasha grabbed the room keys, tossing one to Steve. “My contact said there were rumours someone who looked like the Soldier was here. Maybe I can get some more details - a better idea of where exactly. Might help us figure out what we should actually be looking for.”

“I’m gonna check out the site anyway. Never know, he might have passed through.”

“Let’s meet back here by midnight?”

“Deal. Be careful, Tash.”

She gave a wry smile. “You too, Styopka.”

 

Steve took a cab across town, admiring the many parks and avenues. The streets were busy, people heading out to meet friends or enjoying the slight evening breeze. The car stopped, the driver looking over his shoulder expectantly, and she fumbled together the right change.

“ _ Gracias _ .”

Steve got out and waved, watching him drive off before she started walking. It was a couple of blocks to the scene of the attack but she didn’t mind the stroll, and the less people who knew she was poking around, the better.

She took a cobblestone lane that led past the back of a couple of restaurants and then opened into a plaza surrounded on three sides by Baroque two-storey houses. The fourth side fell away sharply, a horseshoe road connecting the plaza to the streets below. Most of the open space of the horseshoe was taken up by a large church, the spire perfectly lined up with another road leading away from its front entrance. Steve cast her eyes over the neighbourhood of dense townhouses and apartments before examining the plaza itself.

She could see where the car had been - the cobblestones had been blown outwards in a ragged circle by the front door of the victim’s house. They’d taken chunks out of the rendered walls, scorch marks fanning across the plaster. The wreckage had been cleared away but she could still smell it, the taste of too-hot metal sticking to her throat. It had been a big explosion, particularly for such a small target.

Steve looked around, taking in the closeness of the other buildings. It was a very public execution. It would have been seen and heard from every home on the square, and then there was the plaza itself, which would have been full of people. And then the road, with any passing traffic, and then beyond that the area around the church.

She stopped. Maybe that was the point. A huge, flashy explosion would get a lot of attention, and with the openness and height of the site, it would have been easy to see even blocks away. The blonde walked towards the edge, peering out at the dark streets. The bomb would have been very noticeable, which meant as distractions went there were a lot of potential motives. Steve needed to narrow it down. Which particular building might the Soldier have wanted access to?

She had two points already - line of sight to the plaza, and enough people that a distraction was the best way in. Get a crowd pointing and making noise, and no one would notice a stranger slip past. Could it be the church? Unlikely, since they were open to everyone by default. A government building then, or a secure office?

Steve followed the curving road down to the church doors, memorising the street signs for the connecting thoroughfares. Then she just wandered, getting a feel for the streets, hoping something might jump out at her. There was nothing unusual though, just homes and shops and restaurants, the occasional shuttered business with a sign she couldn’t read. She fixed them in her mind to look up later and kept going.

 

Natasha wasn’t at the hotel when she got back, but that was expected. Steve opened her laptop and found a map of the area near the square, scanning for something that might make a suitable target. There was a beep as the door unlocked, and she tensed up before she recognised Nat, giving the redhead a salute.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

“Not bad,” the spy laughed, sitting down to take off her boots, “I only have to dislocate one shoulder.”

“Walk in the park.” Steve snorted.

“I was almost disappointed.”

“Did they know anything?”

“I didn’t have much to work with, since we’re not sure what the Soldier might have actually been doing, but I chased up the supposed sightings. My contact said someone may have seen him down by the docks the afternoon of the bombing, alone, moving fast.”

“Is the intel good?”

“Well a photo would be nice but the description fit. It’s not outside the realm of possibility. How did you go?”

“So I checked out the site, and I think my hunch was right,” Steve spun the computer around so she could see, “Almost this whole area has a front row view to the explosion.”

Nat grimaced. “It’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“I’m trying to narrow it down, find something worth infiltrating.”

“I’ll check police reports, newspapers.”

The blonde grinned. “Thanks Tash.”

“No worries.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, Steve jotting down a few points on a hotel notepad while Natasha scrolled through newspages on the other side of the bed. The street outside was quiet except for the occasional honk of a car horn or loud burst of laughter, and Steve could have almost said it felt like being back in the silence of the Tower. With a shock, she realised she kind of missed it - or at least, she missed Tony and Pepper and Sam, even Jarvis.

“Here,” Nat sat up, “Day of the bombing - approximate time - there was an emergency call from an office three blocks from the square.”

“About?” Steve frowned, “Lots of people would have called in the bombing.”

“Sure, there’s a flood of calls around that time, but this one was only fourteen seconds.”

The blonde leaned closer. “What happened?”

“Transcript is mostly silence, heavy breathing, but there’s this.” she pointed at the screen.

“He took it…” Steve pursed her lips, “Took what?”

“Doesn’t say, the call cuts off.”

“Did they send anyone to check it out?”

“No, and there are no further reports of any break-ins or medical emergencies. And get this - it’s an archive storage warehouse.”

“So?”

“Used exclusively by the federal tax department.”

Steve sat back. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought all that stuff was digitised these days.”

“These are old records - super old. Security’s not great but it is still a government facility, so you can’t just walk in and out either.”

“Unless the guards are looking the other way.”

“Worth checking out.” Natasha nodded.

“Can you get us in?”

She smirked. “Let me make some calls.”

 

The next day they headed to the warehouse, but they ditched the tourist disguises in favour of some sharp dresses that showed a lot of leg. Nat’s in particular was distractingly flattering, even Steve struggling not to watch as she strutted towards the front entrance with briefcase in hand. She flashed a convincing ID at the security guard but he barely glanced at it, waving them both through.

“Make sure you sign in.”

“We will.” Steve gave him a lingering look, sizing him up. He was complacent, not much of a physical threat for anyone with decent training, and certainly no deterrent to the Winter Soldier.

They walked into a cramped lobby space with a counter and a set of stairs. Security glass separated them from a bored-looking clerk, who glanced at their IDs again before waving at an open ledger.

“Sign in please.”

Nat scrawled an unreadable name on the faint line, her signature a meaningless slash. Steve had to remind herself not to be too neat, adding a few unnecessary squiggles to her letters.

“We’re looking for the boxes from the fourth district,” Nat said, “Is there anyone who can show us around?”

“Not anymore,” the clerk sighed, “Budget cuts. We don’t get many visitors.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can find what we’re looking for.” she gave him a smile.

“Depends how much time you’ve got,  _ señorita _ .”

Nat and Steve exchanged a glance. The redhead looked pointedly at the computer behind the clerk and Steve gave the tiniest blink of acknowledge, turning to him with a beseeching look.

“Maybe  _ you _ could help us, sir. We need a few things to take back to the main office - and you know how it is, those guys always want everything done yesterday.”

He huffed. “As long as they don’t have to actually do it.”

“Right? And you’re the resident expert on this place, so if you can spare a couple of minutes?...”

He considered them and nodded, giving Steve a shy look. “I think I can be of service.”

He disappeared behind the screen and then opened a door out into the lobby, squishing in beside them.

“This way.” the clerk waved at the stairs.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Nat wrinkled her nose, “If I go up there I’ll just start sneezing.”

“We’ll be quick, right?” Steve gave her erstwhile guide another smile.

Nat winked. “Take your time.”

The blonde followed him upstairs to a long corridor that regularly split off in other directions. They took a seemingly aimless route through the twists and turns before coming to a door that the clerk opened with a swipe card, waving her into a tall dusty room full of shelves.

“The fourth district,  _ señorita.  _ Can you be more specific?”

Steve eyed the rows of identical boxes, feeling a bit weak at the knees. “I guess I should try.”

 

Natasha was waiting primly in the lobby when they came back down, the clerk insisting on carrying the couple of boxes Steve had chosen at random. She raised a brow in question and Nat flicked her hair back off her face in a discreet nod.

“Well thank you so much, Antonio. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ana.” he beamed, offering her the boxes.

She took them easily, pretending to struggle for his ego’s sake, and gave an awkward wave as Nat held the door open. They flagged down a taxi, sliding in before the security guard could take too much notice.

The ride to the hotel was torturous, made worse by the fact they had to make a couple of stops to change and throw off any pursuers. Steve felt mildly guilty ditching their stolen documents with one of Nat’s contacts, but she assured the blonde they’d make their way back to where they belonged.

“And more importantly, we have a clue.” she brandished a USB as they let themselves into the room.

“Camera footage?”

“I wish,” she sighed, “Someone wiped it, which is its own evidence of shenanigans. No, this is the catalogue of everything shelved at the warehouse.”

“Okaayyyy,” Steve fell into a chair, “What does it tell us?”

“Well I couldn’t help noticing, while I was snooping around,” Nat snickered, “That there were a record missing.”

“It’s an old warehouse, Tash. Probably lots of sloppy data entry over the years.”

She opened her laptop, typing quickly. “This isn’t one document, Styopka - it’s a whole box. And it disappeared recently because I checked their old backups and it was still listed a couple of months ago.”

“Alright, I’m interested. What do we know about it?”

“Well, it’s from a section of files from the older districts,” Nat said, “Contents dated 1850 to 1923, and then it skips to 1939.”

“But what is it?”

“Hold your horses while I figure that out.”

Steve huffed, raiding the mini fridge while she waited. She was about to flick through whatever weird Spanish shows were on when Nat gave a triumphant yell.

“You found something?”

The redhead gave her a smug look. “Oh yeah. The records pertained to property held by the Fisk family. They sold up when the war broke out and relocated to England.”

“Wait a minute. The name sounds familiar.”

Nat glanced up. “It should. They were supporters of Johann Schmidt. Probably entered London as agents for him, moving in high society thanks to their cash.”

Steve went over to the window, resting her palm against the glass and then her forehead, trying to let it cool her as her pulse skyrocketed. Natasha pushed her computer aside, coming up to gently place a hand on Steve’s elbow.

“You okay?”

“I will be. Just...his name, you know? Takes me back there.”

“I get it.”

Limber arms wrapped around her waist and Steve leaned into it, letting Natasha’s breath against her shoulder pull her back into the moment. Finally she straightened, clearing her throat.

“So why now? Why would anyone care about those records?”

“Maybe there was some Fisk money that slipped the Allies’ notice, and somebody wants access?”

“And doesn’t want to draw attention to it. Sounds like the sort of conspiracy HYDRA enjoyed.”

“So we’ll trace them. They’re looking for cash, right? London’s the next best place to follow the Fisk financial records.”

“Okay. London.”

“See? Barely in town two days and we’ve got our next lead - we’ll be on the Soldier’s heels in no time.”

Steve smiled. “Maybe.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was one advantage to their wild goose chase – Steve got to see a lot more of the world. From London they went to Brasilia, then Lhasa, Tokyo, Jakarta and Munich. She felt bad being away so long, leaving Clint and Tony to fend for themselves, but Fury hadn’t called demanding to know where they were and she hadn’t seen anything particularly disastrous on the news, so Steve figured the world was getting by just as well as it had when she’d been in the ice. The Fisk money trail dried up, but not without giving them a few names for SHIELD to take a closer look at. That eased her guilt a little too - they weren’t slacking off, just working their own angle.

The beer halls of Munich gave her unpleasant memories, but she was glad to discover her German hadn’t been dulled by her time asleep. It was much more bearable hanging around strange bars waiting for Nat if she could actually talk to the locals, instead of silently nursing a drink she couldn’t appreciate anyway.

This bar was particularly dated in an ‘80s Eurotrash way, ads for long-forgotten beers creating splashes of neon across the walls. Steve trailed Natasha at a distance, easily keeping track of the redhead despite the dark. They were both dressed for work in leather jackets and jeans; Natasha’s latest meetup was even less reliable than most, and while Steve didn’t love the idea of getting into a brawl she also wouldn’t mind the workout.

She headed for the bar, picking a spot where she could see the door and the corner table Nat had staked out. The bartender glanced at her and Steve nodded.

“What can I get you?”

“A beer.”

“Anything in particular?”

She shrugged. “Just a beer.”

He gave her a bemused look. “Big or small?”

“Definitely big.”

The bartender chuckled and poured her a glass, sliding it over. Steve slipped him a note and raised her drink appreciatively.

“Keep the change.”

“Thanks. You know, you don’t look like the usual type who come to drown their sorrows.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Maybe mine are beyond drowning.” Steve curled her lip.

“You’re too young and beautiful to be such a cynic.”

She laughed. “You’re half right.”

Steve looked past him as a man in a dark coat sat down at Nat’s table, the other spy greeting him with a smile. They leaned in close, enough that even with her enhanced vision she couldn’t read their lips. The blonde sat back, smiling at the bartender.

“So, Mr Half-Right, you got a name?”

 

Steve fell into the banter as a familiar distraction. She still wasn’t comfortable fending off earnest advances but this was all part of her cover, and she’d learned to flirt from the experts. It was easy to keep the conversation going while she watched for trouble.

“So how long until you finish your PhD?” she sipped her beer.

“Another eight or nine months.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll probably be nuts after spending that much time at my desk.” he laughed.

“You should celebrate your freedom.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll just travel. Get out in the fresh air for once! Get some sunshine.”

Steve smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Natasha stood, leaning in to kiss her companion on the cheek, the movement masking her hand as she slid an envelope off the table into her pocket. She strode across the room without looking back, heading for the door.

Steve emptied the rest of her glass, the bartender’s eyes bulging a little at the speed. “Sorry, I’ve gotta run. It was really nice to meet you.”

“You should drop by again sometime. Give those sorrows another soaking.”

“I might just do that.”

She stuffed her hands in her pockets, blinking as she shouldered the door open and stepped out of the dark. Steve walked down the block and turned at a bustling food cart, slipping into a smaller side alley and doubling back. She followed the winding route for another three blocks, finally reaching a small park. Natasha sat on the bench, foot dangling in midair with a breezy smile.

“Hi there.”

“Hey. This seat taken?”

“Be my guest.”

Steve rested her arms on her knees, eyes sweeping the empty path nearby. “Well? What did your mysterious friend have to say?”

“He’s been hearing some chatter about a potential assassination.”

“Where?”

“Tunis. Target is Colonel Ahmed Ben Ismail - nothing special in military terms, but he’s gearing up for a political career that might prove very disruptive to the current regime.”

“Your guy thinks the Soldier’s involved? Bit of a flimsy lead. There are plenty of people who could do a job like that.”

She took out the envelope. “Yeah, but only one who showed up in town recently.”

Natasha passed it to Steve and the blonde opened it, taking out a photograph. It was a still from what looked like security footage of a small airport, the planes in the background definitely not commercial jets. A man was slipping past the camera, so close it almost missed him. He wore sunglasses and a flak jacket with the collar turned up, obscuring the bottom part of his face. All that was visible was shoulder-length brown hair and a hint of his jaw.

“Is it him?”

 

Steve shrugged, turning the image slightly. “Hard to tell. He’s the right build, especially the shoulders. The face...maybe.”

“I’ll take maybe.”

Natasha pulled out her phone, already searching for flights.

“We should move fast - this intel is a day old. We don’t know what kind of timeline he’s working to but I’m betting he’ll move fast.”

“Yeah.”

“This is it, Steve,” she smiled, “This is a real lead.”

“Yeah.” The blonde said, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck as she frowned at the picture.

Nat’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You’re right, it’s a reliable lead.”

“Then why do you look like you just got bad news? I thought you’d be relieved we’re finally getting somewhere.”

Steve sighed, letting her arm drop. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up if it’s not him – or worse, if the Soldier’s not even there.”

“That’s probably smart.” Nat said flatly.

The other woman pressed her fists into her knees. “Tash, if we don’t find him soon…”

“Don’t worry, Styopka,” she grinned, “We’ll find him.”

“You couldn’t do it before.”

“I didn’t have you around to help,” she nudged Steve affectionately, standing, “We should pack.”

The blonde nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Ninth time’s the charm.”

*****

They got a hotel in central Tunis not far from Ben Ismail’s house and started discreetly keeping an eye on him, tailing him in shifts to be less noticeable. They combed the markets and bought a bunch of hats, wigs and cheap outfits they could cycle through so they wouldn’t scare the Soldier off. Steve felt like a total idiot in most of them, which only made Nat tease her more.

“You know, maybe we should dye your hair when we get home. The auburn thing works for you.”

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes, straightening the wig, “Trying to sabotage my looks is beneath you, Romanov.”

“We could be twins.” The Russian smirked.

“Think you can handle the competition?”

“I think Tony’s brain would implode.”

Steve grinned. “Ya know, when you put it like that it almost sounds worth it.”

Natasha got off the bed and stood behind her, yanking errant synthetic strands into place. “They say blondes have more fun anyway.”

“Hasn’t really been my experience.” She screwed up her mouth.

“You’re not the average blonde though, are you?”

“Nat, we should have a plan.”

She raised a brow. “We do – follow Ben Ismail and wait for the shooter to attack.”

“Yeah, but how much are we willing to interfere?” Steve bit her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t sit back and watch someone get murdered just to lure the Soldier out into the open.”

“Even if it’s the only way to get close to him?” Natasha asked.

“I would hate myself if I did nothing.”

“So you want to save the colonel? It’ll make us targets, which could end badly for everyone.”

“We don’t know that,” Steve insisted, “Bucky might abandon his mission once he sees me.”

“ _ If _ the Soldier is Bucky. And  _ if _ he remembers you, and  _ if  _ he still feels an attachment. We have no idea what’s going on in his head, Steve. It’s too dangerous.”

“Whether the Soldier is Bucky or not, I can handle him – which gives you a chance to help Colonel Ben Ismail get away.”

“You might need me more.”

“Tash…” she frowned.

The redhead sighed. “I’ll do what I can for him, but he’s not the priority. My first job is watching your back, and my second is identifying the Soldier.”

“We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Nat gave a wry smile. “How can someone as old as you still be an optimist?”

Steve snorted. “Denial, mostly.”

She gave the wig a final tug and nodded. “Perfect. Now get out there - the Soldier’s not gonna find himself.”

 

From what Steve could tell, Colonel Ben Ismail was too boring to be much of a political threat to anyone. He was a military man to the bone; he left the house at the same time every day, in the same car, with the same driver. They took one of three routes to his office, where he stayed until lunch. Some days he stayed in the building; some days he went out with a couple of companions. After lunch he returned to work until the evening, when his driver took him home using the same routes again. Steve honestly thought he wanted to be attacked, because no one in his position could be so carelessly predictable; the positive PR of an assassination attempt might seem worth the risk.

She was in a black wig today, carefully pinned under a scarf to keep the sun off her neck. She was lounging on a bench with Natasha, reading a thick pulp novel she’d picked up at the airport while the (temporarily) brunette Russian did a crossword in quick, slashing strokes of her pen.

“Tasha.”

“Yes?”

“How long do you really think it would take someone like the Soldier to move on this guy?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how discreet he needs to be. Maybe they don’t wanna make a martyr out of the guy.”

Steve nodded, eyes on her page. “How would you do it?”

“Find out his schedule, pick a social event where he’ll be in public. Make his acquaintance. Get him alone. There are a lot of ways to fake a heart attack.” she shrugged.

“He’d probably have one as soon as he saw you anyway.” Steve snorted.

“He’s not the most interesting man, that’s for sure,” she looked up, “What about you?”

“Oh, you know. Charge in and take him down fast.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Use your spy brain, not your storming the castle one.”

Steve shrugged. “Same as you then, I guess.”

“You never struck me as the femme fatale type.”

“I can play it when I have to.”

“There’s a difference between fraternising with the enemy for information in a time of war, and taking out someone who your bosses think is inconvenient.”

“I try to avoid those kind of bosses.”

Nat wrinkled her nose. “Good luck. In my experience, this work doesn’t exactly attract the benevolent type.”

“As long as I get to decide which orders to follow, I’ll be happy.”

She laughed. “I can see why you got kicked out of the army.”

“That wasn’t it.”

“No, but it sounds like it was only a matter of time.”

Steve nudged her lightly, holding back a smile. “Come on - we don’t wanna miss the exciting ride home.”

 

Steve pushed her food around her plate listlessly, staring at a chip on the rim of her glass. Natasha was talking quietly, eyes fixed over her shoulder to where Colonel Ben Ismail and two wiry bodyguards were having lunch. The conversation was pointless, just random chatter to make it look like they were normal tourists. Steve was getting thoroughly sick of that act.

“Tash?”

“Hmm?” she glanced at the other woman, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in her bowl.

“This is a bust. We’ve been following this guy for almost a week and seen nothing. The Soldier’s not gonna show.”

“We don’t know that.”

Steve scoffed. “If he’s as good as everyone says, why were there even whispers about this mission in the first place? I think it’s bullshit. He’s not coming. We’re back to square one.”

Natasha leaned in, dropping her voice. “I thought you considered this a good lead.”

“Maybe I was just desperate. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Steve, we’ve got no way of knowing when the attack’s supposed to go down. How can you be so sure we’re wasting our time?”

“I just wanna  _ do _ something,” she clenched her fists on the table, “I’m sick of waiting around.”

“It’s like you said: we don’t have any other clues at the moment, so we can’t leave anyway. Might as well stick it out and make sure he’s not here while we plan our next move.”

She sighed. “Fine. Who do we contact?”

Nat screwed up her mouth. “I’ve got an old acquaintance up in Oslo who might know something, but it’s a long shot. I can call her when we get back to the hotel.”

The blonde spun her glass on the saucer, eyes scanning the square outside as a figure in black planted his feet on the sidewalk and raised an automatic to his shoulder.

“Tash.”

She jerked her head up as he opened fire.

“Down!” Natasha yelled, diving out of her seat as she drew her gun.

Steve ignored her, sprinting towards the colonel as he ducked behind the protection of his bodyguards, who had thrown their table on its side and were crouched in the scant cover, firing back. One of them aimed his weapon at her as she got close, and Steve skidded to a halt. There was no point arguing that she was on their side; they wouldn’t believe her anyway, wary of anyone who might be an assassin in disguise.

Besides, they weren’t the ones she cared about.

 

She turned towards the street instead and ran towards the shooter. A black mask covered his face but the hair was the right colour, his left arm blinding her as it reflected the sun straight into her eyes. Steve ducked her head and came up on his right, slamming her foot into the gun and wrenching it from his grip. He turned on her, reaching for a pistol. She didn’t let him, keeping his hands busy as she tried to hook her fingers over the edge of the mask, desperate to see his face.

“Bucky?” she shouted, “It’s Stevie. You need to stop, Buck. Stop!”

The shooter faltered, his next punch rolling past her shoulder, and Steve yanked the cover off, stumbling out of reach. The brunette raised his head, jaw clenched, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Bucky.”

His scowl deepened. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

He spun, lunging for his automatic, and Steve just stood there. She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, but she realised there was no way she could have been; seeing his face was like a dream, like one of her nightmares had stepped into reality to point a machine gun at her.

“Steve, get down!” Nat yelled, running towards them, flinging something at Bucky.

A taser disc hit his metal arm and stuck, sparks running up his bicep. He groaned, dropping the gun as he clamped a gloved hand over the device. He lashed out, whipping his elbow towards Nat, and she fell to her knees to slide under the blow. Bucky threw another glance at Steve standing motionless and pulled an Uzi from between his shoulderblades, vaulting into the café. He sprayed the room and the two bodyguards went down, their shelter blown to splinters.

Natasha threw another taser disc at his shoulder, but Bucky ducked and rolled behind the counter as he reloaded his gun. The redhead ran towards him, hooking one hand around the back of a chair and hurling it at the assassin. He kicked it, the wood snapping in half, and emptied his gun into the far wall.  Ben Ismail tried to back away, scuttling on his hands, and collapsed with half a dozen bullets in the chest.

Steve felt like the air had turned into molasses, her limbs heavy as she waded towards Bucky. He was throwing bottles at Natasha as she tried to close in, the redhead fending them off with whatever she could grab. Steve jumped over a table, landing stiffly on the other side.

“Bucky, please!”

The assassin stopped, eyes confused as they met Steve’s. She tried to smile.

“We just wanna talk.”

There was a moment where nobody moved, Nat’s breathing harsh in the silence – and then sirens cut the air, getting closer. Bucky flipped backwards over the counter and ran for the kitchen door, the blonde tensing to follow.

“Steve,” Natasha panted, “Steve!”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

“We need to go. We don’t wanna be here when the cops show.”

“What about Bucky?”

“He’s probably got five different escape routes – we won’t catch him now.” The redhead put a hand on the small of her back, ushering her towards the back exit.

Steve’s eyes drifted over the wreckage of tables and chairs to the colonel’s blank, lifeless face, and her legs turned to mush.

 

The trip back to the hotel was a blur; the next thing Steve knew she was sitting on the edge of her bed, Nat pressing a warm mug into her hand.

“You’re in shock, Styopka. Try to focus on my face.”

The blonde managed a weary smile. “Geez Tash, you’re asking a lot.”

“You’ll pay for that later.”

“Why not now?”

“I want you at your best,” she grinned, “So you don’t have any excuse when I win.”

Steve snickered under her breath, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the warmth under her fingers. She inhaled slowly, holding it for a moment before letting go. If she focused she could feel her heart racing; she worked on getting it back to normal, one beat at a time. When she felt calmer, she opened her eyes.

“So it was him.” Nat grimaced.

“What gave it away?” Steve huffed a laugh.

“Did he recognise you at all?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem to know himself…like he’s got memory loss.”

“He was going to shoot you.” The redhead said, no emotion in her voice.

“Maybe. I’m not convinced.”

“Steve,” she frowned, “He pointed a gun at you.”

“I was standing between him and his target. You’d have done it too – doesn’t mean he wanted me dead.”

Nat gave her a sceptical look and the blonde sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

“I know it’s sketchy, but I gotta believe it for now.”

“I’m going out to see what I can find. The local heavy-hitters will be buzzing about the attack. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

“I can help you look-”

“Stevie,” she said, voice gentle, “You’ve just had your whole world tipped on its axis. You’re not gonna be any use to me in the field if your head’s not on straight.”

“You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. I just don’t want the trail getting cold.”

“We won’t let it,” Nat stood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay? You could go down to the hotel bar if you need company, or Skype with Sam or Tony.”

Steve made a face. “I’m not gonna fall apart the second you leave, Tash. I’ll probably just go to bed early so we can start fresh tomorrow.”

She gave a slow nod. “I shouldn’t be out too long anyway. I’ll report back as soon as I can.”

The other woman snorted. “Sure wish I could get drunk right about now.”

“Next time Thor’s in town we’ll ask him to bring you something.”

“Good hunting, Nat.”

 

There was no discernible warning, no sound loud enough for even her sensitive ears. Yet Steve jolted awake all the same, lurching upright. The hotel room was dark, the thin curtains not quite keeping out the streetlight, the windows open just enough to let in a breeze. A figure crouched on the sill, watching her silently like a gargoyle. 

“Buck?” she whispered.

The intruder tilted their head slowly, like a snake about to strike, and the light from outside fell across his face. Steve’s breath caught in her throat.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he said softly, voice ragged like he didn’t use it much.

“Cause that’s your name.”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Sure you do,” Steve gave a dazed grin, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky’s brows twitched, a tiny glimmer of recognition in his eyes before he shoved it away. “I don’t know who that is.”

Steve fisted her hand in the sheets. “I’m gonna turn the lamp on, okay? I’ll do it slowly.”

She reached out, making sure to telegraph her movements, and flicked the light switch. Bucky blinked at the glow, but didn’t move.

“Do you know me?” The blonde asked, trying to keep her tone calm and even.

The assassin shook his head.

“But you came back for me.”

“Something…” he pressed a finger to the side of his head, “There was something…familiar. Not from the mission brief. Needed more investigation.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here?”

“Tracker in my arm got shorted out by that thing your partner threw at it.”

Steve wasn’t sure if she should apologise for that, and decided it was safer to drop it. “Okay. What did you want to ask me?”

Bucky didn’t answer, staring at her so long it became unnerving. Steve cleared her throat.

“Can  _ I  _ ask a question?”

He gave a non-committal shrug.

“Why didn’t you take me out when I tried to interfere with your mission?”

“Not supposed to attack civilians,” Bucky muttered, “Draws attention. Leaves a trail.”

Steve grimaced. “But I’m clearly not a civilian.”

The brunette looked away. “You weren’t the target.”

“But I was protecting the target,” she pushed, “You’ve shot people before for getting in the way.”

“You were familiar.” He said flatly, still not meeting her gaze.

 

Steve smiled. Some part of him did know her, even if he couldn’t remember why. 

“Where’s your friend?” Bucky looked at the door.

“Out,” Steve said quickly, “Trying to get some news about you.”

“She won’t.”

“I know.”

He knit his brows, mouth a stiff line. “Why do I remember you?”

Steve took a breath. “We were friends, Buck. We grew up together. We were in the army, in a special strike team. Hell, we were family.”

“I don’t have family.” Bucky said, but it was very quiet and uncertain.

“You do. I don’t care if you’ve got no idea who I am, I’m still gonna look out for you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Pal, I know you better than you know yourself.”

He gave a wry grin. “That’s not hard.”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat at that hint of the old Bucky, the one who was always joking. But then he was gone, the Soldier’s face blank again. She bit her lip.

“Buck, I want you to come back to the States with us. I want to get you away from the people who control you, and make sure they never have a chance to hurt you again.”

The assassin stared her down. “What’s in the States?”

“Natasha and I live there. You could come home with us, stay in my apartment. We’ve got a friend who might be able to help with your memory loss.”

Bucky sighed, turning his face away. “Doctors.”

“The good kind, I promise.”

“Don’t know you,” he shook his head, “Don’t know Natasha. Don’t know the doctors. I know my handlers.”

“I know what they do to you,” Steve said coldly, “I can see it. Your arm...someone put that thing on you. Took your memories, hollowed you out so they could use you.”

“It’s procedure.”

“It’s  _ torture _ .”

Bucky looked at him vacantly. “Sloppy way to get information. The chair isn’t torture – they fix me.”

He curled his metal fingers demonstratively and Steve felt a sick weight in her stomach. “They hurt you, Buck. No one who cared about you would do that, even to fix you.”

The brunette’s lip wobbled like a lost child, and then the expression turned to steely focus as his eyes flicked to the door as they both heard footsteps in the hall.

“Buck-”

 

He glanced at her once and slipped out the window. Steve jumped out of bed, leaning over the sill, but there was no sign of him on the building or the street.

Nat opened the door and stopped, arching a brow. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve took a breath, “Bucky was here.”

“What? When?”

“Just now.”

Nat strode over and stuck her head out the window, scanning the darkness below. “What did he want?”

“He remembers me. Not 100% but enough that he ditched his handlers so we could talk. I tried to jog his memory, but I’ve got no idea if it worked.”

“Did he give you a number or a message, directions to a safehouse?”

Steve shook her head, chewing her lip. “I tried to convince him to join us but he was scared. He doesn’t know if he trusts me yet. I don’t think he’ll go back to his handlers though, not when he’s got questions that need answering.”

“I dunno, Steve. The conditioning they give regular agents is pretty intense, and he’s clearly way beyond that.”

“You think we should try to track him again? Keep them away from him?”

“I’m not sure we can. He’s hard to pin down. Plus we have to start thinking about our own safety. After today, his agency will know we’re here. They’ll try to take us out.”

“What do you suggest then?” Steve sighed, “If we do nothing, he might get away – or worse, they’ll find him and make sure he doesn’t escape again. I can’t let that happen.”

“Bucky’s got questions, right? He’ll come to you.”

“You just said we shouldn’t stay here.”

“We don’t have to,” she gave a half-shrug, “He’s a better agent than I am. If you leave a trail, he’ll follow. Plus it will get him away from his handlers.”

“I don’t like it,” Steve clenched her jaw, “It’s dangerous. They might catch him, or let him lead them to us. I’d rather stay close.”

“You’re not going to make any headway as long as we’re compromised. We need to get out, and let Bucky come to us when he’s ready. Then we can build up some trust and get him back to the Tower, where no one will be able to get close without us noticing.”

Steve pursed her lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Okay. So I just gotta think of a clue that means something to Bucky, even though he can’t remember anything.”

She smirked. “Piece of cake, right?” 


	4. Chapter 4

If Steve hadn’t been constantly worrying about snipers lurking on the rooftops or her brainwashed best friend’s whereabouts, Vienna would have been a nice holiday. Nat had adopted a blonde wig so the two of them could play sisters on a post-college tour of Europe, taking in the sights. They went to all the art galleries and old cathedrals, ate lunch in cute street cafes, and generally had a good time in between the late night freak-outs and incessant paranoia.

They’d spent the day at the Hofburg Palace, doing a little shopping on the way back to the hotel. Natasha took the groceries from Steve as they reached the door so the taller woman could rummage through her bag for the keycard. She slid it into the lock and turned the handle, pausing just inside the door. Bucky stood by the window, aiming a gun at her.

Steve waved Natasha in and closed the door slowly, not moving forward. “Hey Buck. You got my message.”

He stared at her a moment longer and let his arm drop. “Train was the smartest way out of Tunis. Ticket waiting for me in a locker. Don’t know why I looked there.”

“It’s a method we used during the war when we got separated. I thought you might remember it.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I put these down?” Natasha jiggled the bags, “My arms are killing me.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to her, and then back to Steve. The blonde gave a comforting smile.

“It’s okay, Natasha’s a friend.”

The assassin considered that for a moment. “She’s an operative.”

“Black Widow.” The Russian nodded.

“She’s my teammate.” Steve said, voice firmer.

“Alright. Slow.”

Natasha set the groceries on the kitchenette bench and walked backwards, hands where Bucky could see them. She sat in the room’s one wonky chair, the very picture of innocence.

“I’m gonna sit too, okay Buck? And then we can talk about whatever you want.” Steve eased herself onto the edge of the bed.

Bucky glanced at Natasha again before evidently deciding she wasn’t a threat. “I keep dreaming. About you. About falling.”

Steve cringed. “What about me?”

He avoided her gaze for the first time. “Naked things.”

“Um, okay.” She felt herself blush.

“You were sick. Threw up on yourself. I cleaned you up, cleaned your shirt.”

“Oh!” Steve gaped, “That kind of naked thing.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “And sex.”

 

Natasha made a sound that might have been a snort. Steve glared at her. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, eyes still on the blonde.

“Sex makes you vulnerable. If we had sex, I must have trusted you.”

“Yeah, you did. We both did. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and we looked out for each other. The sex stuff…came later.”

Bucky nodded approvingly, like the information checked out. “I don’t remember how I ended up with the organisation.”

“You fell off a train. I searched for hours but you were already gone. I think they took you.”

“I’m their Asset.”

Steve looked at him sadly. “You don’t have to be. Buck, the reason you can’t remember is because they won’t let you. Please stay with us - we’ll protect you.”

“Not sure,” he said slowly, “If I’m not the Asset, I’m nobody. Not James Buchanan Barnes. Not Bucky. Too many bits missing.”

She ground her teeth. “That’s okay. We can work on it, try to help you remember. And if you decide you don’t want to stay with us, that’s fine too. I just don’t want you to go back to them. I don’t want you to feel like it’s your only option.”

“I need to think about it.”

Steve nodded. “Sure.”

“Can I…” he trailed off, “I should stay here. Less movement, less chance of being seen.”

“Of course.”

“I can get another room if you want some privacy.” Natasha said.

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “Operative I never did naked stuff with. I want eyes on you.”

“That’s fair. I might start making dinner then, if you two wanna talk. Do you like fish?”

The brunette gave an indifferent half-shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

Steve grimaced but Natasha acted like that was perfectly normal, getting up to take things out of bags. Bucky’s gaze kept darting to her, especially when she picked up a knife, but he didn’t go for his gun again.

“Do you want to sit?” Steve asked, “Do you have more questions?”

“Yeah. The dreams – sometimes you were a man? But it was still you.”

She pursed her lips, not sure how to handle this. It had been bad enough the first time. “I was born a man, but during the war I volunteered for an experiment that accidentally turned me into a woman. It’s a long story.”

Bucky just stared. “I’ve got time.”

Steve sighed. “So there was this doctor, Erskine...”

 

By the time Steve had finished rambling about Project Rebirth and training at the Academy and the Howling Commandos, dinner was ready. Nat handed the blonde a plate stacked high, and set a smaller one on the couch where Bucky could get it. She took herself back to the kitchen, staying out of their way as she ate. The assassin regarded the meal suspiciously until Steve had wolfed down a couple of big bites, finally creeping over to take the plate back to his spot near the window. He sat, folding his legs, and set his gun within reach. Steve didn’t think it made him any less dangerous.

They ate in silence and Steve cleared the plates, tidying the kitchen as she searched her brain for something to keep the conversation going. She glanced at the clock. “Got any more questions for me?”

“Not now. Too much to process. Things I might remember.”

“Okay. We’ll call it a night then, give you a chance to think.”

Bucky nodded.

“Um, the bathroom’s through there if you wanna wash up. I don’t have any pyjamas that would fit you but I’ve got a big t-shirt if you wanna take your vest off?”

“No need.”

“You can take my bed.” Steve started clearing cushions off the couch to make some space.

“No,” Bucky stood, coming to within arm’s reach of her, “Better sightlines here. I’ll take the couch.”

“At least let me give you a blanket.”

He looked like he was going to refuse but Steve stared him down, her mouth twisted into a stubborn pout. Finally Bucky shrugged and sat, holstering his gun. “Fine.”

Steve got him the blanket while Natasha changed in the bathroom, the spy climbing into bed with a thick novel. The other woman grabbed her comfy sleep shorts and singlet, about to do the same, and stopped. If Bucky remembered her naked, seeing it again might jog his memory a little more. Besides, it was silly to be shy after everything they’d been through.

She changed quickly, back to the couch, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she pulled her shirt down. Bucky was watching her almost fearfully, hands clenched in his lap. Steve grinned.

“Goodnight, Buck.”

He didn’t respond. She got under her covers and turned off the lamp, curling up so the others couldn’t see her face. She had a feeling none of them would actually sleep that night, but she didn’t care – Bucky was with her, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way. Steve could have sworn she could feel him, his presence a jangling vibration in her limbs as her heart beat like a jackhammer. She was so afraid for him, for them - probably more scared than she’d been when she put the plane into the ocean, or when she’d been hanging from the helicarrier over certain death. Everything felt fragile, especially Bucky, and she hadn’t come so far to lose him again.

She wasn’t sure she could survive that.

*****

Despite the swirling maelstrom of thoughts in her brain, Steve did actually manage to drop off for an hour right before sunrise. The blonde sat up sharply, exhaling in a rush when she saw Bucky still on the couch where she’d left him.

“Hey.”

He tilted his head in an almost nod, hands flat on the blanket folded in his lap. Steve looked around – nothing broken, no bodies. Natasha was making breakfast in the kitchenette, frying something. It was absurdly normal, all things considered.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Don’t need it. Don’t sleep much.”

Steve sighed. “Same here. You wanna wash up before breakfast?”

“Not necessary.”

“You don’t have to wait until it’s necessary, you know. If you want a shower, you can have one.”

Bucky stared at her, lips twitching in confusion.

“Is it…” Steve cringed, “Do you need help? With your arm, or-”

“I can do it,” Bucky said curtly, “When I have to.”

“How about we shelve the shower idea for now and have some pancakes, hmm?” Natasha waved her spatula at Steve.

“I like pancakes.” She replied lamely.

“Sergeant Barnes?” the redhead glanced at him.

He shook his head. Steve’s guts twisted, unsure if he was being careful or if he was used to going without food. She had no idea how Bucky’s handlers treated him, but she figured they weren’t too strict about making sure he got three square meals a day.

She didn’t say anything though, trying to help Nat in the kitchen without looking at the brunette too much. When it became apparent she couldn’t keep her eyes pointed at what she was doing, Natasha snatched the knife out of her hand and bumped Steve’s hip with her own.

“Go get dressed, Rogers. I can handle this.”

“You sure?” the blonde’s gaze flicked to Bucky.

“Yeah. They’ll be ready by the time you get out.”

“I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

She waved a dismissive hand, turning back to the hotplate. Steve grabbed a change of clothes, and with a last look at the assassin, ducked into the bathroom. She turned the water on and didn’t wait for it to heat up, stripping off and jumping in with a muffled squeak. But the cold was nothing compared to the thought of walking back into the other room and finding it trashed, Natasha and Bucky at each other’s throats or worse – so Steve clenched her teeth and scrubbed as fast as she could.

When she emerged, hair still wrapped in a towel, Nat was perched on the edge of the counter with her plate in her lap. A second, much taller stack of honey-soaked pancakes sat on Steve’s bed. The blonde grabbed the top one and rolled it into a tube, taking a huge bite. Her brows shot up.

“Wow, Nat, these are great.”

“They’re not bad, considering my limited resources,” she nodded, “There are a few leftover if Barnes changes his mind.”

 

Steve glanced at the brunette surreptitiously, but his jaw was as firmly set as ever. She stuffed the rest of the pancake in her mouth before she could say something pushy about keeping himself fed – if she wasn’t careful, she was going to turn into her ma.

The blonde got about halfway through her breakfast before anyone broke the silence, Bucky clearing his throat like it was full of glass.

“I have questions.”

She paused, honey dripping onto the bedspread. Steve wiped it off absentmindedly. “Sure. Uh, give me thirty seconds here and then I’ll answer whatever you want.”

“Would you prefer to be alone?” Natasha asked, “I can make myself scarce.”

“Still don’t trust you,” Bucky’s brow furrowed, “Spy.”

“I could say the same about you,  _ assassin _ ,” she arched a brow, “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Probably not.”

“Whoa!” Steve threw her hands up, “Time out, guys. We’re on the same side.”

The sniper tilted his head. “Are we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Buck. We wanna help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

Steve bit her lip. “Then we’ll just talk. I’m okay with Tasha being here for that, since I trust her not to repeat any of it. If you don’t, she could stay in the bathroom-”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “Need to maintain visual contact.”

Nat jumped off the counter, placing her plate by the sink. She walked over to her bed and climbed in, making herself comfortable against the pillows before opening her book. “How’s this?”

The Soldier eyed her warily for a minute before nodding. “At least you can pretend you’re not listening.”

She snorted. “I think you’re overestimating how much I care about this little drama, Barnes.”

He curled his lip into an almost smirk. “I doubt it.”

Steve finished eating and carried her plate to the kitchenette, taking a moment to clean up while she got her thoughts in order. Bucky didn’t move, eyes steady as he watched her rinse the plates and dry them, stacking them back in the cupboard. Finally she sat opposite him on the edge of her bed, hands limp in her lap.

“Okay. What do you wanna know?”

 

“Who are you working for?”

Steve grimaced. “No one at the moment. I guess we’re technically on indefinite leave.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m really not!” she raised her hands, “We’re here alone. Just me and Tasha.”

The assassin growled low, squeezing his thighs with tense hands. “What’s your agency? Who have you been working for?”

“Natasha is an agent of SHIELD. I’ve been working with them as a member of a group called the Avengers. Have you heard of them?”

He shook his head.

“We’re not real agents. It’s more like...a group of people with special skills. We’re the big gun that gets pulled out for threats no one else can handle. The last resort, I guess.”

“A strike team.”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“Like the Commandos.”

Steve smiled. “Pretty much exactly like that. Still fighting the weird alien science shit, just on a more interplanetary scale.”

“Black Widow’s on the team?” his eyes flicked to Nat, who gave no sign she’d heard.

“Yeah.”

“She’s not special. A good spy, but just a person.”

“You’ve never gone close quarters with her.” Steve made a wry face.

“Who else?”

“Another SHIELD agent, Barton. Thor, who’s...well I think he’s a god. He’s from another realm or planet or something. Calls down lightning, which is pretty wild. And then there’s Stark - Tony Stark. Howard’s son.”

“Howard’s son.” Bucky repeated, no emotion in his face or tone.

“Yeah. Yeah, he got married after the war. Had a kid. He’s pretty much a chip off the old block, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“You’re stationed together?”

“Nat and I live in Stark Tower. We train most days.”

“You’re friends.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. We weren’t always, but I came around. These youngsters aren’t bad, once you get to know them.”

He frowned. “We were...friends.”

“Yeah. Lifelong friends.”

“And then we weren’t.”

 

She cleared her throat. “After you fell.”

“Before that,” he glanced at her, “Friends don’t usually have sex.”

She shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Did we do that before the war? Before you were...like this?”

Steve shook her head. “No. I think we wanted to, but we didn't really know it. We weren’t expecting it.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, “I can see how it would have been surprising.”

Her heart sped up. Was that a joke? “It was a surprising couple of years.”

He eyed her uncertainly. “I don’t remember. Is that...okay?”

Steve gave a hollow laugh. “Nothing about this is okay, Buck. But I don’t expect you to remember everything. Maybe anything. Even stuff like that. God, what you’ve been through...I can’t even imagine.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you - I want you to be safe. I’d like you to trust me, but I get it if that’s too much.”

“Trust is dangerous.”

“Yeah, it can be. But I’d never hurt you, Buck. No matter what.”

Bucky screwed up his face, eyes darting to something past her shoulder. “Stay put.”

Steve blinked. “Sure.”

He got up, careful to keep more than an arm’s length between them as he skirted around her and into the bathroom, the lock clicking as he closed the door. Steve let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, rubbing a hand over her face. She turned and caught Natasha’s eye, the redhead raising her brows in a question.

“Pretty interesting that he remembers you guys hooking up. Seventy years of jumbled memories but that one roll in the hay stuck out? You must be dynamite in the sack, Rogers.”

Steve glowered at her, throwing a pillow that Natasha caught easily with a chuckle.

“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

“I think this is as light as it gets,” the blonde shook her head, “But thanks anyway. You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Styopka. I might need to stretch my legs at some point, but I can certainly entertain myself for a couple of hours.”

“I meant in general – having Bucky here,” Steve frowned, “He did shoot you.”

“He was doing his job, same as me. It wasn’t personal.”

The other woman made a face. “You’re more forgiving than most.”

Natasha’s smile faded. “It’s not about forgiveness. I’d have done the exact same thing in his situation. Wouldn’t you?”

Steve thought of the men she’d taken down without a second thought during their raids on HYDRA’s facilities and felt a sick wave of acid rise in her throat. “Whatever it takes to complete the mission.”

There was a sound in the bathroom and Nat’s eyes returned to her book. Bucky opened the door abruptly, gun in his hand. He paused when he saw neither of them had moved, and eventually relaxed, holstering it. Steve somehow managed a casual smile.

“Next question?”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, Steve spouting whatever random nonsense she could think of and occasionally lapsing into tense, heavy silence while Bucky glowered at his feet. She didn’t want to push things, but she was too antsy to keep her mouth shut.

“Is this helping, Buck? Are you starting to remember things?”

“Don’t know.”

Steve deflated a little, shoulders slumping. “Oh.”

“I had a sister.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly, “You had three. The oldest was Rebecca, then Frances, and little Mary. They were great girls.”

Bucky’s lips shifted, like he was testing out the feel of the names in his mouth. “What happened to them?”

Steve ran a hand over her face. “The same thing that should have happened to us. They grew up, got old, died. I had someone at SHIELD look into them when Tasha and I first decided to come looking for you. Rebecca got married, had some kids. Her daughter lives out in Omaha with her own family, and her son’s still in Brooklyn. Frances-”

“She had real soft hair.”

Steve nodded. ”Yeah, she did. Brown like yours and all the way down to her waist. She signed up as a nurse for the Korean War - that was in the ‘50s. Married some soldier, but they never had any children.”

“What about the other one?” Bucky leaned in, “Mary, you said.”

“She...ah geez, Bucky. She got polio right after the war. They didn’t have the vaccines for it back then, and she...she died, Buck. She was 22. I think that’s what made Frances become a nurse.”

The sniper was silent. Steve was clenching her jaw hard enough to make her teeth ache, grieving for those girls who’d been like her own sisters, who might have been real family if they’d survived the war and gotten married after all.

“Do you need to take a break? It’s a lot to take in.”

Bucky shrugged. “I know I’m supposed to be sad, but I can’t. Can’t remember her face. I feel...blank.”

“That’s okay. I hope you get those memories back one day, because they were good times. We spent so many nights gathered around your ma’s table, the girls teasing me, and you egging them on.” Steve grinned.

“I wasn’t there for them.”

“You tried, Buck. That’s all you could do. They would have understood.”

“I left everyone. My family. You.” the brunette glanced up.

“Not by choice.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Doesn’t make it better.”

“Bucky, nothing that happened was your fault. You were a great big brother, and my best friend. I know you wouldn’t have gone away if you could help it. I’m sure the girls knew it too.”

 

He didn’t respond, gaze slipping to the floor, and Steve sighed. She stretched, holding back a yawn.

“I feel like I’m going to talk myself hoarse. I’m gonna make dinner. Are you hungry?”

Bucky shook his head.

“You should still try to eat.”

“If you like.”

She frowned but didn’t say anything, heading for the kitchenette. Nat looked up, setting her book aside.

“Need some help?”

“That’d be great.”

They prepped dinner in silence, backs to Bucky in what Steve hoped wasn’t a foolhardy display of trust. She had so much to think about, and she wanted to ask Natasha’s opinion on everything but that was impossible with Bucky around. Surprisingly, she wanted to call Dr Hendi - and then she immediately felt a smug urge to text Sam and point out how good she was being about therapy. Steve figured she could use all the positive support she could get right now.

They finished throwing together a simple pasta, the tinned tomato sauce making her wrinkle her nose in a combination of disgust and shame, but there wasn’t much room to get creative in their tiny workspace. Steve loaded up a plate for Bucky and took it over, placing it on the couch by his knee when he didn’t reach out to take it. She took her usual spot at the end of the bed, while Natasha pulled up a chair by the kitchen counter.

“You got a favourite food, Barnes?” the redhead asked.

He eyed her for a moment before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t  _ matter _ , but it’s one of those things you ask people,” she shrugged, “Small talk.”

“I hate small talk.”

“I think everyone does, but you gotta get through it to get to the big talk.”

“Steve and I do big talk.”

“You’ve known each other for a lifetime. Small talk’s a bit redundant at this point. But you and I don’t really know each other, so - what’s your favourite food?”

He stuck out his lip. “What’s yours?”

“Potato bake. A really crispy skinned, cheesy potato bake with bacon and sour cream. It’s my comfort food.”

“Such a Russian.” he sneered.

“Speak for yourself, Winter Soldier. You probably spent more time in my country than the States.”

Steve started to object but stopped when Bucky laughed, staring as the assassin snickered.

“You got a point there, Widow. I don’t remember my favourite food, but as soon as I do, I’ll let you know.”

 

Steve relaxed and kind of enjoyed dinner after that. Bucky didn’t make any more conversation but it was nice just being there with them, two of her best friends. Having them together despite all the weirdness and bullshit Steve had gone through, despite the inconceivable odds. She felt like she’d cheated her way to victory - probably a premature feeling, given the precariousness of the situation, but she had to hope they were getting somewhere.

Natasha cleared their plates, accepting Bucky’s untouched food with an easy smile, and Steve stood.

“I’m gonna wash up. You guys okay for a moment?”

“Of course.”

She grabbed her things and headed into the bathroom, feeling slightly less rushed than the day before. Steve even forced herself to slow down, fingers dragging through her hair. She had to show Bucky she trusted him, and she needed the time to relax and just do something for herself. By the time she got out, her shoulders felt a little bit lighter.

Steve walked out to find Natasha watching a trashy Austrian reality TV show, while Bucky cleaned one of his pistols on the floor. It must have been completely unnecessary, but Steve could see how it would be a familiar, comforting habit, and she didn’t comment as she climbed into bed.

“Your turn, Barnes, unless you want a cold shower.” Nat said.

He waved a hand at the disassembled weapon. “Gotta finish up first.”

“Alright, but don’t take too long. I’m looking forward to a good scrub.”

He quirked a brow at her and finished cleaning the barrel. Bucky snapped the parts back into place, hands moving on autopilot almost faster than Steve could follow. In less than a minute, he was sliding the magazine in with a smug look at Natasha that made the blonde want to giggle.

The Russian simply sniffed. “Well, get on with it then.”

Bucky was still smirking faintly as he holstered the gun and went into the bathroom, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. 

“Do you have to poke him so much? We don’t know how stable he is.” Steve sighed.

“It’s a trick I learned from Clint - you can’t be suspicious if you’re too busy being annoyed.”

She snorted. “Explains a lot.”

“Besides, someone has to prepare him for Tony.”

“If we even get that far.” the blonde made a face.

Natasha reached over and took her hand. “It might not seem like it, but you’re doing well. He’s opening up. That’s huge.”

“I don’t know if it will be enough. He’s talking to me because I’m familiar, but that doesn’t mean he feels anything like...closeness, or friendship. Even basic trust.”

“One day at a time, Steve. You’ll get there.”

*****

The next morning Steve woke up first; even Bucky was out of it, curled on the couch in a protective hunch. She didn’t move, not wanting to disturb either super spy, letting her eyes rake over her old friend. He was In great shape, his right arm disturbingly muscular to counteract the weight of his prosthetic. Physically she supposed they’d want to keep him in peak condition, and despite his alarming disinterest in taking care of himself, someone was obviously tending to his basic nutritional needs.

It was his face that was all wrong, tired and old even though the rest of him hadn’t aged a day since the war. He looked permanently on edge, which only made Steve more nervous, like they were both waiting for an attack that never came. She was worried about how he’d fit in at the Tower; as hospitable and friendly as Tony and Pepper could be, the inventor didn’t cope well with other people’s jumpiness – he could barely function through his own.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, gaze burning into hers. Steve smiled hastily, fisting her hands in the blanket.

“Morning.” She whispered.

He didn’t respond, scanning the room as he sat up. Steve glanced at Natasha, who still seemed to be asleep, and jerked her head at the kitchen. She slid out from under the covers as quietly as possible and tiptoed to the far corner by the sink, Bucky following warily. He stood with his arms crossed in front of her, Steve suddenly aware of his size and muscle mass as he loomed over her.

“I should go out and get breakfast,” she said, voice barely more than a murmur, “Nat needs to eat, and if you keep skipping meals you’re gonna waste away.”

“I don’t require more than-”

“Forget about the requirements,” Steve scowled, voice clipped angrily between her teeth, “Are you hungry? Do you wanna eat?”

Bucky considered it, lips pulled together tightly. “It’s not mission protocol.”

“This isn’t a mission.”

“I…I don’t know.”

Steve inhaled slowly, keeping her voice calm. “Okay. I’m gonna wake Nat up and let her know I’m heading out. I’ll go to the deli at the end of the block and grab some groceries. Can you two get along for fifteen minutes while I’m gone?”

“If the Widow watches herself.”

“Great. Then I’m gonna get dressed and talk to Tash.”

She stalked past him and took a change of clothes from her suitcase, disappearing into the bathroom. She could hear soft voices as she dressed and brushed her teeth, the movement obviously enough to stir Natasha (if she wasn’t already awake). Steve walked back into the main room, pulling her hair into a collegiate ponytail.

“Hey Nat. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” The redhead smiled.

“I’m gonna get something to eat from that place on the corner. Buck’s gonna stay here with you, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds like a party.”

“No parties,” Steve pointed accusingly, “And no bitching about me while I’m out.”

“Styopka!” Nat gave an outraged huff, mouth wide in mock-surprise, “Would we do that?”

 

Steve didn’t exactly run to the store, but she did walk pretty fast; she trusted Natasha to keep an eye on Bucky if his agency tried to take him back but she wasn’t entirely confident the two of them could manage not to kill each other in her absence. She gave a strained wave to the shopkeeper as she breezed past, filling her basket like she was gearing up for a fight. She paid and scooped the many bags into her arms, hurrying back to the hotel.

When she got the door unlocked, she found Natasha doing yoga cross-legged on the floor while Bucky watched from his favourite spot on the couch. Both of them glanced at the door as it opened, the Soldier already drawing his weapon.

“This looks friendly.” Steve grinned.

Nat snorted. “It was only ten minutes, Stevie. I told you we’d survive.”

“Well I hope you’re hungry, cos I got a little excited in the fresh veg section.” She started unloading shopping into the mini-fridge.

“You cook a lot.”

The blonde stopped, surprised by Bucky’s voice. She smiled at him. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You never used to cook.”

Steve laughed. “Cos you had all the talent.”

Bucky frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

Her face fell a little. Nat caught her eye and gave an encouraging nod, and Steve pulled herself up as she continued unpacking. “You did most of the cooking to help your ma with the little ones, and to help me when I was sick. I never really learned. I thought they’d teach us at the Academy - you know, good housewife skills to help us blend in with the civilians – but they never did. Guess they figured most girls grew up with mothers to teach them that stuff. Even Peggy didn’t go out of her way to include it in my lessons, but then I never really saw her in a kitchen either.”

She took out a chopping board and a well-worn knife, slicing open a pack of bacon.

“When I woke up last year, everything was so new and confusing,  _ especially _ the food. There were so many new options, so many flavours, and with the serum everything tastes more intense anyway. I felt totally overwhelmed. But the first week I was here, our friend Sam brought me a stack of recipe books to work through and it really grounded me, gave me something simple to focus on. I guess cooking is my comfort thing now – it’s homey, straightforward. I like that.”

“Sarah…”

Steve stopped mid-slice, glancing back over her shoulder. Bucky’s brow was deeply furrowed, his eyes on the floor as he thought.

“Sarah used to make us chicken soup.”

“That’s right,” she nodded, “After school, before her shift at the hospital.”

“It was good.”

Steve’s heart swelled at the memory, proof that Bucky was really in there despite the scary, blank façade he sometimes fell into. “I’ll try to live up to the standard.”

 

While Steve cooked, Natasha went about her morning routine like she didn’t notice Bucky tracking her every move – but the blonde saw she was careful to always keep her hands in view and her stance relaxed, and was once again grateful that Nat had come with her. Everything seemed more manageable with the Russian around.

Steve served up the heavily-laden plates of bacon and eggs, fried mushrooms spilling over everything in a slippery avalanche. She handed one to Nat and then took another to Bucky, venturing closer than usual to put it directly in his hand.

“Eat.” She said sternly.

He curled his lip. “You don’t get to give me orders.”

“The war might be over but you’re still part of my squad, sergeant, so hop to it.”

The assassin gave her a bemused look but did as he was told, the trio eating in silence until they were almost finished.

“So what’s the verdict?” Steve teased.

Bucky chewed thoughtfully, tilting his head as he swallowed. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah?” she smiled, “You want some more?”

His brows twitched, mouth pursed. Steve kept her face calm and her tone light as she stood and refilled her own plate.

“There’s plenty leftover, so have a think about it and help yourself if you decide you do, okay?”

She sat back down next to Natasha, focusing on her food. After a couple of minutes Bucky stood and went to the kitchenette, shielding his motions from view. Steve elected not to react as he returned to the couch with his second helping, afraid that even a smile might make Bucky think he was being manipulated. Instead she cleared her plate with her usual enthusiasm, happy to see him making decisions for himself.

Natasha stood and held out her hand for Steve’s dishes, putting them in the sink. She started tidying up the breakfast things and Steve turned to Bucky.

“Do you want me to take that for ya?” she gestured at his cutlery.

He screwed up his nose. “I’m not an invalid, Rogers.”

The soldier stood, shoulders rigid as he took his dirty plate over to Natasha and held it out like an offering. She eased it from his grip with a smile.

“Thanks.”

He looked stunned, fingers curling in awkwardly as he stared at her, and then he dropped his gaze and backed away until he could see them both.

“So what do you want to talk about today?”

 

Bucky’s memory was still slapdash but it seemed their conversation the day before had stirred up some new thoughts, and he had a lot of questions. He made Steve go over the same stories again and again, like he was trying to trip her up and prove they weren’t true. She was patient, adding new details as she remembered them, and prodding him along when they hit topics he had a firmer grasp on.

“I think I remember Zola…” he said, “I remember a face – a man – who was always there when they were fixing me, giving them instructions. He was there when my arm was gone. I’m not sure who it was.”

Steve pulled out her phone, running a quick search until she found the right image. She turned the screen towards Bucky. “Is this the guy?”

He reached out, tentatively taking the device. He stared at the photo of Zola, face pale. His arm started to shake.

“Buck?”

The phone screen shattered with an insignificant crack as the soldier’s fist clenched around it. He blinked, staring at the crushed metal with confusion. He gave Steve a grim look.

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“That’s okay, bud. I wasn’t super attached. Tony gives those things away like candy anyhow,” she smiled, “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Bucky frowned. “Mild laceration. I’ll heal.”

“Will you let me look at it?”

His gaze narrowed, but he nodded. Steve got the first-aid kit from her bag and moved to the arm of the couch, gently placing a hand on his wrist to get him to unfurl his fingers. She carefully picked the pieces of phones out, setting them on the coffee table, until she could see his palm. There were a few small cuts from the glass but nothing major, and she made sure there was no shrapnel left in them before she started cleaning the wounds.

Bucky was quiet, patiently waiting for her to finish. Steve moved to bandage the hand and he moved it away.

“S’ fine,” he shrugged, “They’ll close up in a minute.”

“Alright,” she stood, cleaning up the mess, “I’m guessing you remembered.”

“Yeah.” Bucky scowled.

“That’s good, right? Helps connect some of the dots in your head?”

“Maybe I don’t wanna remember,” he mumbled, “Maybe some stuff should stay hidden.”

“I don’t think you get to choose, Buck. If you’re prying around in there, you’re gonna shake things loose – for better or worse.”

“I could go back,” he said, “Let them wipe me. Forget that I’m missing pieces.”

Steve choked down the cold rush of fear, keeping her face steady as she folded her arms over her chest. “Would you be okay with that? Letting them use you? Letting them empty you out, now that you know what you’re giving up? You’d be handing over free will, Buck. Becoming their puppet again.”

“I don’t know what I want,” the soldier bit his lip, “But…I think if I need to be fixed, it should be you. Their way hurts more.”

Steve let her shoulders relax, the weight lifting. “Okay.”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, until finally Bucky asked for some time to process. Steve didn’t say anything but she was glad of the break, her own emotions just as chaotic as the sniper’s. She started making dinner, pulling ingredients out of the fridge and clearing the countertop so she had more space.

“Need some help, Styopka?” Nat put her book aside.

“Sure.”

She turned on the radio, tuning it until she found a retro station, and hummed to herself as she joined Steve in the kitchen. Natasha opened the bag of rolls and found a bread knife, slicing them in half while the other woman chopped salad stuff. Steve unwrapped the burger patties, wishing again she had the space and resources to make her own, but they’d just have to make do.

The pair fell into an easy rhythm, dancing around each other as they prepped and heated the pan. Steve looked up a couple of times to find Bucky watching with interest. He seemed content to just sit, so she focused on the food and the soft, poppy background music, handing Natasha a couple of plates as she dug out a spatula. They churned out burgers like a production line of two, stacking everything on the fresh, crusty buns. Steve made sure there was plenty - she had two super-powered metabolisms and a hangry Natasha to satisfy.

With a plate in both hands, the blonde sat on the floor by the bed. She put one within reach of Bucky without looking at him, taking a napkin from Nat as the redhead joined her on the carpet. They started, ignoring the assassin on the couch. Steve pointedly didn’t look up or comment, concentrating on not getting sauce all over herself. Eventually there was a small sigh and he joined them, picking up a burger with his real hand. She shot him a tiny smile and he rolled his eyes, taking a bite.

They’d made it most of the way through the meal in silence when Bucky stopped, scowling at his food. “They’ll be looking for me.”

Steve and Nat exchanged a glance, the blonde swallowing her mouthful. “We know. But as long as we stay in this room, we should be fine.”

“Can’t stay here forever.” The sniper pointed out.

Steve bit her lip, eyes dropping to her plate. “You could come back to New York with us. We’ve got a good situation there, high security. We could protect you better.”

“Won’t matter. They’re everywhere.”

Nat leaned forward. “Would you be willing to tell us more about them? It would help if we had some idea what we were up against.”

“Can’t,” Bucky closed his eyes, “Not yet.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said quickly, “Between the three of us and Tony, I’m sure we can handle them. You could have your own room, your own space to work through stuff.”

“What if I don’t want to go to New York?”

 

She held her breath. “Then we’d stay here with you, or I could stay and Nat could go back. If you really don’t want us around I’ll leave too, but I can still help – money, documents, whatever you need to hide from them.”

Bucky leaned back against the couch. “You’d be okay with that? Leaving me behind?”

“No, but if you told me you needed some distance I’d try to respect it.”

The brunette stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning. “Liar.”

Steve quirked her lip. “Maybe.”

“I don’t want to go back to them. Don’t really have anywhere else to be,” he shrugged, “So I guess I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” she brightened.

“But they’ll be hunting me. They’re dangerous people,” the sniper grimaced, “I don’t wanna dump that on your friends.”

“Trust me,” Nat snickered, “They’re used to it.”

“I don’t think they’ll be too pleased to see me if I bring trouble with me.”

“Tony feeds off trouble. Don’t worry, Buck - I’ve already spoken to him about what might happen if we found you, and he’s fine with having you in the Tower.”

Bucky nodded slowly, picking at his bun and rolling the crumbs between his fingers. “Gonna be a bit tricky getting me into the country. I don’t exactly have a current passport.”

“Not a problem,” Natasha shrugged, “I can call Fury, ask for a quinjet pickup.”

“No. No SHIELD. I don’t know them, and I don’t trust them.”

“Buck,” Steve rested a hand on his leg, “They’re okay. And we don’t even have to tell anyone you’re with us - we can just say the pickup is for me and Nat.”

“No. Audio, cameras. Can’t remember if I ever went up against their agents, but I shot Romanov, so there’s a good chance there’ll be more spies with grudges waiting for payback.”

“Okay. The Stark  Industries jet, then. I’ll call Tony.”

Bucky screwed up his face. “Don’t want any favours.”

“Stop fussing, Tony’s a teammate. He’ll be happy to help.”

“Identification?”

“We’ll sort it out.”

Bucky sighed. “Fine.”

Natasha winked at him. “That’s the spirit.”


End file.
